Secrets of the Night
by themodernteen
Summary: Neal walks into work, beat up and bruised, denying anything serious, but Peter knows better. The con is lying and it's up to him to help Neal without getting caught. Peter loses control when Caffrey is set-up by Keller to make it seem like he stole a prized art piece and arrested. Can Burke solve the case and clear Caffrey's name? Don't own any White Collar material or characters!
1. Chapter 1

**Here's a new story! White Collar is one of my favorite shows, so, naturally, there's got to be some drama, some suspense, some humor, and some angst ;) Hope you all enjoy! Leave me a review/fav/follow!**

"Let the poor man rest, Peter!" June followed the FBI agent as he waved her off, stepping outside onto Neal's tremendous outdoor terrace. It provided a three hundred sixty degree view of downtown New York City and drew his breath every time he laid eyes on the sight.

"He's fine, June, he's Neal," Peter grinned slightly, "the man managed to steal multi million dollar art with carrier pigeons, I'm confident he can handle this case."

"But it's not just _this case,_ Peter," June argued fervently, her dramatic flare filtering into her words, "give him a day at least, some sleep, proper food. It'll make a world of a difference."

"June, I appreciate your concern for him, but Neal is on a strict contract. There is no room for a day off when you're dealing with a convict and the Federal Bureau of Investigation. My hands are tied, Hughes will have my ass if I don't catch Keller this time."

"But Peter-"

"He slipped through my fingers once, June, I can't let that happen again, I can't," Peter's unwavering gaze challenged June's. She held it for a few seconds then looked at the floor in concession, "It's for Neal's safety as well as the rest of New York's."

"I guess individual opinion doesn't hold the same value it used to," June pursed her lips as she walked to the door, wringing her hands, "Agent Burke, I plead with you…look after Neal, he'll deny he needs your help but keep a close eye."

"I hear you, June, thank you. I'll make sure I will."

She dipped her head, eyes still holding an unaccomplished, worried stare, before she turned and retreated down to her apartment. When Peter was sure she was gone, he exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his aching scalp. Where _was_ Neal? He took a look at his watch and saw it was 9:15 AM. Caffrey was 15 minutes late for their usual meeting time, and he was almost _never_ late. Peter must've let the time slip by when he was talking with June.

"All right, Neal," Peter huffed, "you're late, that means it's time to take out your tracker data. Where'd you run to this time?"

He fished his work phone from his pocket, where an application would document the con's location. Before he accessed it, a message beeped across his screen from Neal:

 ** _Meet you at HQ, 9:30 your office. Thx._**

 ** _N.C._**

Burke felt a flitter of suspicion tingle in the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. He pocketed the phone, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out of the luxurious suite to get to work.

Peter tapped his foot against the elevator floor as it glided to an easy stop at the White Collar Division floor. He stepped out of the car and felt a relaxing breath escape from within when he stepped onto his familiar floor. There was something missing though: Neal's desk was empty. It was like looking at that one strand of hair out of place, or that one crooked teeth in that perfect row of white enamel. He felt something tick within, a small irk ignite inside him. When Neal got in, he'd make sure to have a nice scolding about his sudden lack for the concept of timeliness.

"Jones," Peter brushed his feelings aside and looked at one of his most trusted agents, "my office."

"Sure thing, Peter," he nodded diligently, "be right there."

Burke set his briefcase down on his desk with an irritated sigh before Jones closed the glass door behind him and leaned against one of the chairs.

"Thanks for being here, Jones," he huffed under his breath.

The agent looked slightly taken aback, "Of-of course, Peter, why wouldn't I be here?"

"Because you know the importance and responsibility this job entails," Burke's eyes wandered behind Jones and to the empty desk that was bugging his brain, "unlike some people."

Jones caught Peter's eye and turned around, saw the desk, and turned back with a knowing smile.

"Caffrey," Clint nodded, "I should've known, the only time you really get upset before we've even got a case is when he's around. What's the situation this time?"

"He's not here!" Burke threw his hands in the air, "Almost ten o'clock and he doesn't have the respect to make it up the stairs and come to work every morning! Is that mansion apartment too hard to live in? How about the thousand dollar suits he wears everyday, are those just not cutting it anymore? Jesus, it's like babysitting an infant!"

"Peter-"

"And it's not just this, no way! He has other priorities, like thieving and scheming for his own needs before the FBI's and what do I do? I cover him every time! He could've been thrown back into jail the second week he got here, but why do I save him, Jones, why?"

"Uh, boss-"

"Even worse is the little guy, Mozzie! Gosh, sometimes I could just wrap my hands around his neck and-argh! I don't get any gratitude from him, any thanks for my efforts and now he has the audacity to show up late to work and send me a text to when he can leisurely walk in and out!"

"Agent Burke!"

Peter looked up at Jones, who had an amused grin on his face, "Guess who just rolled in."

Burke's eyes flitted behind Jones' figure again and he saw Caffrey, all nice and innocent, sitting at his desk, reviewing files like he'd been there all morning. Peter slammed his mug on his desk, pushed himself out from behind his desk, and walked out sternly.

It was as if the temperature dropped a few degrees as Peter made his way down the main isle quickly. All heads turned to him, then to his target, and back again. It was like watching a showdown of the ages, and Burke was ready to deliver. Neal didn't looked up, too engrossed in his files, until the tall, looming for of Peter cast a shadow over his work. He looked up.

"Oh, hey, Peter," he said with a white smile.

"My office, now," his handler didn't say another word as he turned around, wide shoulders retreating back up the stairs and to his office where he waited tersely yet patiently.

Neal felt his heart flutter, like that feeling when you know you've done something wrong and you're just waiting for your parent to scold you.

"You did it this time, Caffrey."

"Dead meat."

"Nice knowing you, Neal."

It was like the walk on death row as he held himself tall and followed Burke's path into his office. He made sure the glass was closed behind him, knowing full well the entire White Collar floor was watching intently for Burke to explode.

Peter didn't say anything for a few seconds as Neal looked down at his shoes. He stood up, walked past the ex-con and stuck his head out the door, "Back to work, people, we've still got bad guys to catch!"

They all returned to their previous jobs reluctantly, but kept one eye on the office as they did so.

"Peter-"

"Stop it, Neal, I don't want to hear it."

"But how am I supposed to explain what-"

"Don't," Burke shook his head, "with you, the less I know, the better."

"Okay," Caffrey nodded, "but can I say one thing?"

"Fine."

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"Not being on time this morning."

"You think that's all I'm upset about, Neal?"

He still wasn't looking up, "I don't know, maybe-"

"No, Caffrey, I'm upset that time and time again you disrespect the rules laid out for you. I got you out of prison, Neal, so you could start over and this is how you treat the parameters concerning your release? At any time if someone catches you, it's not just you that goes out it's me too. Would you want that to happen?"

"No."

"Would you want me to come home to Elizabeth and tell her some articulate story where I covered your foolishness one more time, but we had to pay the price?"

"No," this time he looked up, a serious expression on his face.

"Would you-?"

Peter stopped short, he studied Caffrey's face. Neal saw this, eyes widening just a little, as he looked down.

"Neal."

"What?"

"Look up."

"Why?"

"What's that on your face? Is-is that make up?"

"What? No!"

 _"_ _Caffrey."_

Peter stood up, put a hand under the con's chin, and forced him to look under the light.

"Peter, what the heck!"

"Neal, you're wearing concealer. Why?"

"How do you know?"

'I've been living with a woman for a long time, I know these things. Now, answer my question."

"I thought you didn't want to hear about what happened last night."

"Neal!"

"Okay, fine! Yes, I'm wearing concealer!"

"Who did it?"

"What, the make up? Mozzie, we didn't have a lot of time so-"

"No, not the make up, who hit you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen my fair share of shiners in my day, Neal, and yours looks pretty bad and fresh. Who did it? Someone I should be concerned about? Keller?"

"No, Peter, calm down, all right? It's nothing, no one-"

 _"_ _Neal."_

"I swear to you, I was walking out of the subway, a guy tried lifting my wallet, I caught him, he punched me, then ran away. Check the cameras, it's all true."

"Where were you going?"

"Home."

"From?"

"One of Mozzie's hideouts."

"That's not what happened, Neal, I know you. You're lying."

Caffrey stood up, suddenly angry, Peter looked at him and pursed his lips. He'd gone too far.

"I don't need you breathing down my neck every morning, okay, Peter? Get off my back, it was nothing, and I handled it."

"Neal, I didn't mean-"

"I don't care what you mean, Peter, I'm just here to take the years off my sentence, nothing more and nothing less."

Now, Peter knew _that_ was a lie.

"So, if it's all right with you, _Agent Burke_ , can I get back to work?"

"Yeah sure, Neal, you can get back to work."

Without another word, the ex-con stormed out of the office and walked to the elevator. His glaring blue eyes met Peter's as the doors slid shut.

 **Stay tuned! The story will really pick up! Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the interest, readers! Hope you enjoy! Leave me a fav/follow/review!**

"There's something going on with him, El," Peter sighed as he set the salad bowl on the table, "I know it, but he just won't open up."

"I'm sure it's tough for him, sweetheart," his wife rubbed his shoulder as she brought out the dinner plates, "he's a private guy, he'll come around."

"Yeah, but when? What if it has something to do with Keller?"

"Keller?" Elizabeth straightened up instinctively, "Is he back?"

"There's a whiff of him in rumors from the underworld," Burke shook his head, "I think he's targeting the new Monet that surfaced in New York."

"And you think Neal knows something?"

"Probably! Keller hates Caffrey, he'd love to show off his return and his plans to him before anyone else. That may be why he had a pretty bad black eye this morning when I saw him."

"A black eye?" Elizabeth dropped the spoon, her eyes full of worry, "He was hurt?"

Peter nodded darkly.

Elizabeth shook her head and set the pasta bowl down defiantly. She retreated into the kitchen, leaving Peter looking after her in confusion. A few seconds later, his wife emerged with his thick, brown coat.

"Go."

"Go where?"

"To Neal's," she held out the coat, "make sure he's okay."

"El, I'm sure-

His sentence trailed off. He took one look at his wife and knew she wouldn't budge. Burke leaned forward, grabbed the coat, and kissed her. She smiled and urged him off.

"Do what you do best, Agent Burke."

He nodded and went to the door, "Keep dinner in the fridge for when I get back!"

Peter's clenched fist knocked on the door to Caffrey's apartment, "Neal, open up, it's me."

A few seconds with no movement or sound on the other end.

Burke rolled his eyes, "Look, I know you're upset with me, but just open the door and we'll talk it out, I'm ready to listen."

Still nothing.

The FBI agent's brows furrowed, "Neal?"

He knocked again.

Footsteps sounded, coming up the staircase. They were too heavy to be June's and the shoes were worn, it was a man, but not Neal (he wouldn't be caught dead with worn shoes).

 _Keller,_ Peter thought. He pressed his back against the wall, silently pulled his gun from his belt, and waited like a panther for its prey. The footsteps sounded closer, just hitting the top stair.

"Freeze! FBI!" Peter jumped from his place and held his gun so the barrel was pointing at the head of the intruder.

It wasn't Keller with that suave voice, and tough build. It was a man, a small man, with no hair, and thick framed glasses.

"Jesus, Suit, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Mozzie!?" Peter growled before lowering his weapon, "What are you doing here?"

"That's none of your business," he sniffed, "and I could ask you the same."

"Work related," he clenched his teeth, "where's Neal?"

"He texted me saying he was home."

"He _texted? You have a phone_? What about the government is tracking you and all that?"

"As alarming as it might sound, I have an untraceable number so nobody can track it," he gleamed proudly.

"Well, no one is answering the door, he's not home."

Mozzie furrowed his brow in confusion, then dug through his pocket before he pulled out a small key.

"You have a key to his place?"

"You don't?"

Mozzie fitted the key into the lock and turned the latch. The door swung open easily. Peter stepped in first, on alert in case one of Keller's goons was hiding out. Mozzie picked up on his cautious attitude.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he did a quick sweep of the main room, but didn't find anything alarming, "just checking."

"Oh, cool it, Suit," Mozzie rolled his eyes, "for the life of me I'll never understand how Elizabeth chose you of all people."

"Because she has great taste," Burke holstered his weapon, "Neal!" he shouted, a little annoyed, "Where is he?"

"He said he'd be here, told me to meet him at 7 o'clock," Mozzie checked his watch.

Footsteps hit the stairs.

Peter looked up instinctively, senses on high alert. He reached for his weapon.

"What? Maybe it's Neal," Mozzie whispered.

"Maybe it's not," Peter lodged himself behind the door, ready to pop out. Mozzie hid for cover next to him.

"Get away from me!" Peter whisper-yelled at the con, "You'll give me away!"

"No way, Suit! If I'm going to trust you in any situation, this is it!"

Burke rolled his eyes. His job was to protect civilians, and that, unfortunately, included Mozzie.

"Who could it be?" Mozzie asked in a whisper as the footsteps heavily hit the staircase, "Keller?"

"Keller?" Peter whipped his head towards Mozzie, "How do you know about Keller?"

"How do you?!"

The steps hit the top stair. Peter braced himself, grip retightening around the gun.

A figure walked through the open doorway. He was tall, skinny, with a fedora, and expensive suit.

"Neal!?" Mozzie and Peter exclaimed at the same time.

Caffrey turned around, startled, and saw his two friends stuffed shoulder to shoulder behind his door.

"Mozzie? Peter?!" He scoffed, "What's going on here?"

"Where have you been?" Mozzie threw his hands in the air dramatically, "I've been waiting here for what seems like hours with only the Suit to keep me company!"

"It's only been a few minutes," Burke sighed as he holstered his weapon one more time.

"Okay?" Neal said slowly, still trying to process the situation, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check up on you, per Elizabeth's orders," he said, "and to apologize, I shouldn't have pushed you too hard today."

"It's all right, Peter," Neal nodded, "it was partially my fault."

Peter walked over to the table and pulled out one of the chairs, "Sit," he instructed Neal, "I'll get the first aid kit and I think you've got some things to tell me."

Caffrey placed his briefcase down on the couch, looked at Mozzie who was eyeing Burke uncomfortably, then sat down where he was told.

"Moz, do you mind pouring three glasses of Bordeaux, please?"

Neal's con-in-crime obliged and retrieved three glasses.

"First aid kit is in the bathroom, Peter, if you don't mind?" Neal smiled.

The FBI agent looked at Mozzie then Neal with skepticism, but sighed as he left the room. Peter quickly grabbed the kit from the bathroom, then pressed himself against the wall, trying to catch glimpses of the conversation between Neal and Mozzie in the kitchen.

"Are you sure he's back?"

"Pretty sure, Moz, last night confirmed it."

 _So something did happen last night._

"What do we do?"

"He's going to come after me, we need to have a game plan ready."

"And the Suit?"

"Don't say anything to Peter, I don't want him or Elizabeth involved. Remember what happened last time?"

Peter shuddered at the thought of his wife's kidnapping by Keller as a way to attack Neal. He tried to put on his best poker face and rounded the corner back into the kitchen. Mozzie and Neal had already broken up their conversation, and it seemed like everything was normal, not a hair out of place.

"So, let's get started," Burke sat himself down across from Neal and unzipped the kit, "and you can begin with how you got some nice bruises last night."

"I already told you," Caffrey angled his face so it was in the light, Peter started dabbing antiseptic wipes against the concealer so hastily applied on his injured eye, "a little run-in at the subway station."

"Neal, I thought we agreed to be honest with one another."

"You know I can't be fully honest with an FBI agent, Peter," his usual charm filtered into his voice.

"I'm off duty, Neal, no badge, no punishment."

"A typical Suit-esque trap if you ask me," Mozzie quipped.

"No trap. Friend to friend."

"Even that's skeptical."

"Mozzie," Peter growled.

He held his hands up in surrender.

Caffrey sighed, "Fine, Peter, I don't know a lot, but I can say that this wasn't because of a subway mugging last night."

"So you lied."

"Yes," Neal stared him down.

"Okay, thank you for being honest, continue."

"I was on my way home from Mozzie's, that much was true," Caffrey elaborated, "but someone black bagged me and I was thrown into a car."

"Neal, you were kidnapped?" Burke's jaw dropped.

"Well….yes, I guess so," he nodded, "it wasn't a long drive, and they let me go, but we parked somewhere and they kept me in the back of this van."

"Did they say anything?"

"Just asked a few questions," Neal recalled, "they knew who I was and that I was an _alleged_ art thief. It sort of felt like a consultation."

"How so?"

"It was like they were asking advice from me on how to steal the new Monet that was found."

"The Monet?" Mozzie's eyes lit up, "Fascinating!"

Peter glared at him, but focused back on the story, "So, what did you tell them?"

"I said I didn't know what they were talking about, and as a result…" he trailed off.

"They beat you up as punishment," Burke nodded, "makes sense. I'm sorry, Neal, I didn't know."

"It's okay," he moved a little, but winced.

Poor Caffrey must really be hurting, and here he was badgering him about showing up late to work this morning. Now that the concealer was off, there was a sizable bruise around Neal's right eye. It was swollen and deep in hue, it had to have been a really hard hit that probably still stung terribly. His heart clenched, but he had to brush his feelings aside if they were going to crack this case.

"Neal," here was the million dollar question, "do you know who could possibly turn up to steal the Monet?"

He was waiting for the word "Keller," for Neal to trust him enough to cue him in on the situation, but the con had trusted only himself his whole life. It was an innate quality in him not to confess to any form of authority.

"No," Neal shook his head, and Peter felt a stir of disappointment in him.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen," Peter said in a firm voice, "Neal, you're taking the day tomorrow, Mozzie, you stay with him and make sure he's okay. I'm going to send over the company doctor to take a look at you, make sure you're healthy enough to return the next day. As for this Monet business, keep it under wraps, I'll see what I can dig up tomorrow."

"No, Peter, you can't," Caffrey shook his head, "if people catch the FBI snooping around something this big, they could link it directly back to you and Elizabeth."

"Trust me, Neal, I've been doing this a long time, I know how to handle this type of situation. Don't worry about it, I'll keep you updated, but I expect the same treatment. You hear anything or anyone about going near the Monet and I want to hear about it _ASAP_ , understand?"

There was a breath of hesitation, "Yes, I understand."

"Good, I'll leave you be," Burke stood up, "keep ice on the wounds, take an Advil, the doctor will be here in the morning."

"All right, Peter, good night."

"Night, Neal."

Peter grabbed his coat, walked out, and started wondering what he could do to catch Keller.

 **More to come, stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for your patience! Enjoy the chapter!**

Neal shot up, breaths coming quickly as he looked around frantically. He clutched his head, the sudden movement sending a rush of pain to his brain. He clutched his head and groaned. It didn't hurt this bad before, but the doctor's meds must be wearing off. Neal glanced at the clock, it read 3:17 PM. He'd been asleep for eight hours now.

"Good morning," Mozzie raised his glass and toasted to Neal as he sat at the kitchen table reading his fine wine magazine, "or should I say good afternoon."

Neal smiled tiredly and unwrapped himself from his bed covers. His sore legs touched the ground and he slowly stood up, carefully stretching his stiff muscles.

"There's a glass on the table," Mozzie pointed to the waiting wine, "I must admit I was tempted many times to replenish my thirst with your waiting glass, but alas I thought I'd make an exception just this once."

"Wow, Moz, how selfless of you," Neal smiled and settled down in the chair slowly, wearing a silk robe.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mainly sore," he admitted, "but fine otherwise, more worried about Keller. Any word from Peter?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Mozzie rolled his eyes, "he called this afternoon-"

"Called? And you answered?"

"Yes, of course."

"Mozzie, _you went near a phone_?"

"Oh, don't act so shocked!" Mozzie scoffed, "it was a time of need and urgency, I had to make an exception."

"Okay," Neal laughed then regretted it after it sent a blast of pain to his head, "what did he have to say?"

"He wanted to know if I could connect him with any contacts regarding Keller's whereabouts."

"Mozzie, you didn't."

"I had to!"

"This could lead directly back to the Burkes, Elizabeth and Peter will be in danger! Not to mention any scent of the FBI on this and Keller runs."

"Neal, what did you want me to do? You were incapacitated and I'm sorry, but I will not see my best friend abused once more by Keller's henchmen. The Suit can handle this, it's his job."

Neal got up from the table, panic running through him. He had to warn Elizabeth, he had to call Peter, he had to-

The second he got out of his chair, Neal felt his knees buckle as the floor came crashing towards him. He extended his palms and caught himself slightly, but the next thing he knew he was lying on his stomach, cheek pressed against the floor.

He heard a distant shout and some muffled footsteps by his ear as Mozzie's face swam in and out of his vision.

"Mozzie?" he tried to say, but didn't know if the words ever made it out of his head.

Suddenly, a rush overtook him and sounds, scents, and sensation returned to him. It was like switching from a blur to a sharp, crisp reality.

"Are you alright?" Mozzie pressed, "Neal!?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Moz," Neal rolled onto his back and rested against the table leg, "just a bit dizzy."

"The doctor told me you were concussed!" Mozzie was very animated in his shouting, "Damn my forgetful self, I should've known!"

"It's okay, I'm doing better," he lifted himself into the nearby chair with Mozzie as arm support, "Where's Peter now?"

"I sent him to a contact I know named Jody. He has some intel on the Monet."

"Does he know if Keller's gonna aim for it?"

"I don't know," Mozzie paced, "but I can't keep sitting around here while the Suit meddles in everything and makes me lose half my private contacts," he grabbed his jacket, "I'm going to go review a few leads I have and will be back in an hour, hour and a half tops, okay? Don't leave, don't move, you're still hurt, Neal."

"Fine, Moz," Caffrey rolled his eyes, "where would I go?"

"Oh, don't play smart with me, pal, we all know what you're capable of."

Mozzie smirked as he exited the apartment and shut the door.

Peter walked through the large storage unit lot, scoping the large containers as he tried to find the main office. He was looking for a character named Jody, per Mozzie's intel, but he didn't know if that was such a reliable source. Regardless, Peter finally found a small office with an "open" sign hanging through the window. The hot sun was blaring down on him on the warm New York day, and all he wanted was to catch Keller and spend some time in front of the air conditioner.

Peter knocked on the door carefully, trying to peek through the window for some sign of life, and after a few minutes, a figure came lumbering towards the door. A middle aged man a little round around the edges opened the door with dirty coveralls and greasy white shirt. He had a cautious look in his eyes, looking Peter up and down warily before he opened his mouth.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm a friend of Mozzie's."

The guy's eyes widened a little and he looked side to side for any prying eyes or ears.

"Come in."

He held the door open just a smidge for Peter to wiggle through and he closed it behind him.

"So, I was-"

"No," the man stopped him, "back here."

He retreated to a back room and Burke followed obediently. The man didn't stop till both doors were closed, the shades were pulled down on the windows, and they were speaking in near whispers.

"You Jody?" Peter asked hesitantly.

Jody grunted a "yes".

"I'm Peter, wanted to know a bit about the Monet that just resurfaced. Heard you were the man to see."

"Some say that."

"Well, they wouldn't be saying it if it weren't true."

"Guess so."

"So? What do you have to offer?"

"I don't know, what do you?"

Peter rolled his eyes, and stuck his hand in his pocket. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill. Jody took it with sly finger and stuffed it into the front pocket of his coveralls.

"Yeah, I know a few things," he leaned back in his chair, "authentication finished just yesterday."

"But I thought the legitimacy was announced last week? How could they finalize the authentication yesterday?"

"Unless it wasn't a real authenticator who showed up at the museum."

The wheels were turning in Peter's brain, "You mean to tell me it was Keller who posed as an authenticator to get inside the museum?"

Jody shrugged cryptically, "Didn't say nothing of the kind, you did, friend."

Peter scoffed, finding his little ruse silly, "Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever," he took a breath, "that's brilliant. Keller probably wanted to see the painting for himself, to make sure it wasn't a trap. By posing as an authenticator he could get a look at the painting and scope the entire security systems and perimeter of the building. He cased the museum already!"

Jody was emotionless.

"Anything else you can tell me?" Burke pressed.

"I don't know," Jody shrugged, "Do I?"

Peter glared at the man, but pulled another hundred from his wallet.

He took it easily, "The person in question is planning to grab the painting tonight."

"Tonight?" Peter gawked.

Jody nodded.

"That's impossible! How could he do it so soon, he just finished casing the building yesterday!"

"Don't ask me, ask the guys who do it," Jody snorted, "that's all I've got to talk about, man, so I'd get lost before someone gets suspicious."

Peter looked at Jody one more time, trying to make sure he wasn't lying or hiding anything, but he seemed true. Burke thanked him and walked out of the office, buzzing with excitement and energy. For once, Mozzie was able to pull through on a decent lead! He would have to thank the little guy when he saw him again, but that was going to take every ounce of his patience and commitment.

Peter jogged to his car, knowing he had no time to lose now if Keller was attacking that night. He jumped into the driver's seat and glanced at his watch: 6:47 PM. He needed to get to the museum right away-

Ring! Ring!

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the buzzing of his cell phone. Peter fished it out of his bag and saw Jones' contact number on the screen.

"Jones!" Peter answered excitedly, "I've got a great new lead, you'll never believe-"

"Peter!"

Burke stopped cold.

"Jones?"

"Peter, you've got to get back here right now. Hughes' orders."

"Hughes? He gave me the day."

"It's urgent, someone stole the Monet."

Peter felt his heart drop, "W-what?" That wasn't supposed to happen yet.

"It's all over the news, it's crazy! Hughes is pissed!"

Peter's shoulders sagged, his courage deflated, "What? Why?'

"Because it's Caffrey."

"Caffrey?" Peter immediately straightened, "What about Caffrey?"

"It was him, Peter…." his agent said slowly, "Neal Caffrey stole the Monet."

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	4. Chapter 4

**Here it is! Enjoy! Leave me a fav/follow/review! Loving the ones you guys already posted!**

 _"Stop it, please! I told you, I don't know anything!"_

 _That didn't stop the painful descent of the boot that collided with his stomach. Neal cried out in pain, cries that were muffled behind the black cloth fitted around his head._

 _"You still can't remember, Caffrey, huh? You managed to run from the FBI for years, stealing and forging at your own will, and that just happens to slip your mind?"_

 _Another heavy kick._

 _"I'm just asking one little favor, Caffrey, just something small," he couldn't see his attacker, but he could smell that rancid breath, "help us with the Monet, and we're done."_

 _"Help with what? I don't do that anymore."_

 _"You can make an exception!"_

 _A rough hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and a clenched fist connected with his right eye. Neal hit the ground hard, his vision seeing stars, that resulted in another pained shout._

 _"Please…" he coughed, "stop…."_

 _"Last chance, Caffrey."_

 _Someone kicked him in his ribs, and his teeth clenched as the bone slid out of place._

 _"You've got anything to tell me?" his attacker asked once more._

 _Neal shook his head weakly._

 _"Your funeral."_

 _The shadow of a boot wavered above his head. He closed his eyes, trying to brace himself, as the shadow came barreling towards his face and-_

Neal snapped out of his daydream. He was sitting in his kitchen, sitting idly, waiting for Mozzie to come back. He let his thoughts wander and this is what he was rewarded with. Painful memories. Neal pressed a hand against his black eye, recalling the nasty sting as the sole of a shoe connected with his face. Now he looked like he spent a night at Fight Club. It had been almost two hours and Mozzie wasn't back yet, but he wasn't surprised. This happened with him a lot. As for Peter, he hadn't heard anything since last night when he dropped by. He promised Neal he'd keep checking in with updates, but so far there was absolute radio silence. He debated calling him, but he thought he'd let the FBI agent do his thing and not have him to worry about on top of everything else. If Peter got sidetracked just for a second, Keller would descend like a vulture and that meant danger. Neal puffed out a frustrated breath. He wished he could go out and do something, be productive, help with the investigation, but here he was sitting like an invalid. Caffrey heaved himself up out of his chair heavily and walked to his living room where he opened his laptop screen and tried to do some research.

The minute the laptop turned on, the blue light made his eyes sting painfully. Neal shielded his sensitive pupils and recalled something about a concussion. Great. Now he couldn't even watch TV if he wanted. Exhaustion sucked at his limbs all at once, the effects of his tired body and concussed mind catching up to him. He slept for eight hours, but now it seemed like he hadn't gotten shut eye in three days. Neal placed the laptop down on the coffee table and stretched his legs out on the couch. His eyes closed automatically, a relaxed breath releasing from his chest.

Finally, some peace and quiet….

 **Ring! Ring!**

Neal's eyes shot open and he lifted himself up too quickly. A dizzy spell overtook him and he clutched his forehead, trying to steady himself. His cellphone was on the kitchen table. Every bone in his body was telling him to leave it, but his mind, albeit a little slow, was telling him it could be Peter with some news. Neal lifted himself up and trudged over, swaying slightly. He looked down at the phone screen, but was puzzled to see the words "No Caller ID."

Caffrey narrowed his eyes suspiciously, picked up the cell phone, and answered.

"Hello?"

"Ah, Caffrey."

He froze.

"Keller."

"Good to hear from you, long time no see."

"Let's keep it that way," Neal gritted his teeth.

"What? No kind words for an old friend?"

"How did you get this number?" the ex-con growled into the device.

"You know, here and there," Keller dodged the question, "wanted to check in and see how you're doing? The boys didn't beat ya too hard, did they?"

"What's it to you, Keller?" Neal sneered, "It's not like you actually care."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, Caffrey," Keller replied darkly, "I hate you with every bone in my body, but I don't want you to die just yet."

"So thoughtful of you."

"Let's get down to business, huh?" Neal's nemesis spoke, "the Monet."

"Don't even think about it."

"What?" he could practically see that evil smile, "you got dibs?"

"I don't do that anymore," Neal clenched his fist, "you know that."

"That's besides the point," Keller continued, "but don't sit there and act like you haven't even given a little thought to it."

Neal didn't answer.

"Come on, Caffrey," Keller laughed on the other end, "the thrill of the steal, you remember those days, huh?"

"Very well," Neal's jaw tightened, "but that's not who I am anymore."

"So you're telling me you're not going to steal it?"

"Of course not! I'm on the straight and narrow, Keller, unlike you. I would never steal the Monet, but I will see to it that you are arrested and put away for a very long time."

"Oh, yeah, cause that worked out so well last time," Keller scoffed, "keep your eyes open, Caffrey, I've got all I need."

"What?" Neal furrowed his brows, "What do you mean? What do you have?"

"Goodbye, Neal."

The line went dead.

"What?" Neal pulled the phone away from his ear and looked down at it, "No, no, no! Keller!"

"What do you mean Neal stole the Monet?" Peter's voice was tight and angry.

"That's what I heard from Hughes, Peter," Jones spoke on the other end, "don't shoot the messenger."

Burke was fuming. Here he was on some wild hunt talking to cheap storage unit managers for some information given to him by a con artist so he can go behind the FBI's back to cover for an ex-con who was just accused with stealing the very object he was intended to protect. Yeah, not a very good day.

"Okay, okay," Peter ran a hand over his face, "tell Hughes I'm on my way."

"Got it."

Peter hung up. He looked at the steering wheel of his car for a few seconds, then his phone, then the parking lot of the abandoned storage unit and he cracked. Burke slammed the wheel with both fists, his anger finally showing through. He was usually good at keeping his emotions in check, but this sent him over the line. Neal flat out lied to his face, made him think Keller was back in some well devised plan just so he could throw off his scent. No, not today. He was going to sort things out with Hughes then make a direct trip to Caffrey's apartment with handcuffs in his back pocket. Neal would not get away with this one, he'd gotten away with a lot, but not this.

Burke got back into the office and stomped over to Hughes' office. Other employees were looking at him with curious expressions, wondering what was about to go down between the two. Peter took a deep breath as he stood outside his boss's closed door. He knocked once, no answer, but he knew Reese was waiting for him.

"Hughes," Peter closed the door behind him as he entered, "you wanted to see me."

His boss and close friend didn't look up from his papers. He had a pen in his hand and was writing away, not even acknowledging him, but that's how he knew he was really upset. Peter just waited it out, and finally Hughes set down his pen and leaned back in his chair. He spent a few moments looking Peter up and down uncomfortably. All Burke could do was stand there and wait.

"Sit," Hughes pointed to a chair.

Peter obliged.

"Where is he?"

"Caffrey?" Peter rubbed his hands together, "At home, resting."

"Resting my ass," Hughes scoffed, "word is he stole the Monet."

"You can't prove that."

"Actually," Reese threw a file in front of Peter, "I can."

Burke looked at the file with wide eyes and gulped. There was evidence Neal stole the Monet? He was having a difficult time believing it, but with hard proof evidence there was no way he could deny that. Peter opened the file with slightly trembling fingers and observed the photographs.

There was a cordoned off area in the museum, where the Monet painting should be. Instead, in minute print, were the letters, "NC" in the middle of an empty picture frame.

"Just like the forged bonds that put him away," Peter said in disbelief. He looked at them closer, and shuffled through the other photographs and came across the image of "NC" from years before, when Peter caught him, "No, no, no, this can't be. He-he doesn't do this anymore, he's not like that!"

"The facts are there, Peter," Hughes slammed his palm against the table, "I can't argue with it."

"This-this doesn't prove anything, someone could've put those letters there," Burke stammered, "or-or-"

"Forensics found fingerprints too, Peter," Hughes shook his head, "on a door handle."

"Where's the security footage?"

"Cameras were disabled."

"Well, isn't that convenient," Burke spat.

"Cool it, Peter," his boss stood up, "this is your job, okay? We don't defend the criminals, we catch them. Now, where is Caffrey? I've got to bring him in for questioning."

"Sir, please-"

"No opposition, Peter, this is how it's got to be. I know you two were close, but this is justification. Neal has to learn his actions come with consequences."

Peter slumped back against his chair, eyes staring off in disbelief. How could Neal do this to him?

"Peter."

He looked up, in a daze."

"Where's Caffrey?"

Burke was in the back of an FBI team topping 15 men. All of them had their company jackets on, ready to arrest and detain Neal Caffrey. Hughes was heading the track, knocking on June's front door with a heavy fist.

"FBI! Open up!"

Burke cringed. He had been here countless times, almost excited to come and see Caffrey every morning, but now he wanted to be far, far away.

He heard the lock unlatch, and Peter tried hiding behind the last man, not wanting to be seen.

"Burke!" he heard his boss's voice at the front of the crowd, "Front and center! Come on!"

He flinched. No, Hughes couldn't do this to him, no.

"Hurry, Peter!"

The 15 men parted like it was the Dead Sea. Peter was staring at Hughes with hurt eyes, ones that kept saying "don't do this to me."

Hughes gave him an iron glare, "Now, Agent Burke."

Agent Burke. Reese wasn't talking to him like he was his friend, but his employer. It was as if this was punishment for giving Neal too much leg room.

Peter obliged and stood next to his boss as the door opened and June's terrified, shocked expression. It became pained once she laid eyes on Peter.

"Peter?" her voice was full of hurt and disbelief, "What-what is this?"

"I'm Agent Peter Burke, Mrs. Ellington," Peter said with an aching heart, "we're going to need you to step aside."

"I don't understand! What for?"

"For the arrest of Mr. Neal Caffrey," Hughes said darkly as he pushed past June and the 15 men followed behind. Peter waited at the door, looking at June with a sorry expression as the shoulders of the passing me hit his own.

"Peter…" June echoed with a soft voice.

Burke took a deep breath, steeled himself, and followed the men up the stairs. He wanted to protect Neal in case things got ugly with Hughes. This was a personal hit to White Collar, a betrayal. Of course his boss was going to be upset.

By the time Neal raced up the stairs, Hughes had already broke down the door. 15 men were in the luxurious apartment, searching for Neal.

"Where is he!?" Hughes stamped his foot and yelled.

Peter looked around in confusion. The bed was made, the wine was put away, the clothes were folded, and no Caffrey. June came rushing through the door.

"Neal!" she cried, but she too looked around. There was no sign of the ex-con.

"What's going on?" Peter finally spoke.

"Damn Caffrey is gone!"

"What?" June gasped.

"Where could he go?" Burke asked.

"You tell me!" Hughes threw his hands in the air, "This is absurd! I want an APB out on one Neal Caffrey, now! Keep looking come on!'

Hughes stormed out the door, waving his hand to motion that Peter accompany him.

He walked past June who had a smile on her face, thankful her charge had escaped.

Peter, on the other hand, was worried. Neal, injured, managed to pull off a daring escape with a concussed brain and the entire FBI on his tail. He ran out the front door, trying to keep up with his boss. He'd need to stay ahead of the FBI's investigation, perform his own little incognito research.

Hughes was already in his car, his cell phone pressed against his ear making urgent calls.

"Back to the office!" Reese growled and sped off angrily.

Peter exhaled heavily, shoulders weighing down with stress and worry. What was he going to do? Where could he find Neal?

" _Psst_!"

Peter furrowed his brows and looked from side to side.

"Suit, over here!"

A glimmer of hope. He turned around and dressed in a painter's uniform was Mozzie, wearing a fake wig and sunglasses. He had on coveralls with splotches of paint on them, a paintbrush in one hand, and a bucket of paint in the other.

"Mozzie!" Peter whisper yelled, jogging over to him and pulling him to the side, "For once, I'm glad to see you!"

"Oh, God, end me now."

"Mozzie, where is Neal?"

"Not here," Mozzies started to pull away, "514 MacDougal Alley."

He was running down the street in seconds, paint bucket jostling in his hand. Peter ran a hand over his face. He didn't want to trust Mozzie with anything ever, but this might be the only option to find and help Neal.

"Okay," Burke nodded his head, accepting his position, "looks like I'm going rogue on this one."

 **Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all for your patience! Enjoy this chapter, a little bit of a twist!**

Mozzie rounded the corner of MacDougal Alley, one of New York's most private streets. He ditched his painter's get-up for his usual stylish sweater vest and was on his way to building 514. This was his safest safe house, virtually untraceable back to him but to some Michigan woman he happened to choose at random. The FBI would never be able to connect it to him, and this was the first time he'd shown it to Neal. But the tracking anklet was the problem.

During his little errand run, Mozzie was able to talk to a friend who morphed a trace blocker on a dark phone to be more tracking anklet effective. That gave them about four hours of freedom before the signal went on again, and Neal was in no shape to perform some elaborate scheme in four hours.

When Mozzie came back to the apartment, the place was a mess. Clothes littered the floor, the covers were thrown off the bed, and Neal was in the closet packing a bag. His eyes were dazed, his complexion feverish, he wasn't thinking straight. His best friend was rambling on about a phone call and the Monet painting, but Mozzie worked at lightspeed to get him out of there. He hailed a cab, gave the address of a cafe just a block away from MacDougal Alley. Then, Mozzie went back up, cleaned the place, packed Neal's bag, a bottle or two of wine, and he caught up with Neal and took him to his safe house. There, he let the poor guy rest for some much-needed healing, but time was ticking. He hoped the Suit was en route because he needed a contingency plan for Neal's escape from the FBI's trail.

He came upon the building and checked the front and back doors. No signs of forced entry. He crept to the backyard and peered through the window. Neal was right where he left him, lying down on the couch, eyes closed, hands resting on his chest. Mozzie fished for the key in his pocket and twisted it into the lock. Neal's eyes opened when he heard the door lock click, and he tried to get up.

"No, no," Mozzie rushed forward, "it's just me!"

He eased Neal back down on the couch who groaned, "Jesus, what time is it?"

"Midday, I don't know, I don't have a clock."

"Why?"

"This is my safest safe house, what if someone bugs it?"

"Moz, I highly doubt the first thing someone thinks about if they're going to bug something is the wall clock."

"That's besides the point," Mozzie brushed off the subject, "more importantly, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine-"

"Don't give me that, Neal, come on."

He took a deep breath, then looked at Mozzie with clouded eyes, "I don't know, I just feel so disoriented. Like, every time I try to focus on something it just can't stick into my brain."

"That's the concussion."

"Look, Moz," Neal winced as he tried to sit upright, still recovering from sitting up so fast, "what's the gameplan, I can't be here much longer."

"Neal, this would be easy except for the fact that you're injured and need rest. I think I handled the situation, he should be here any minute now."

"He?" Neal narrowed his eyes, "Who's 'he?'"

The doorbell rang.

Mozzie jumped, and his eyes widened.

"Hide!"

Caffrey heaved himself up from the couch and threw himself at the stairs. His vision went white for a second and he barreled into the banister instead. Mozzie was frantically trying to reorganize the couch, as Neal barely made it to the top of the stairs. He was in a cold sweat and panting heavily by the time he did that. A wave of exhaustion passed over him, but he was trying to plan out multiple escape routes. He heard his friend downstairs slowly creep to the door and glimpse through the peephole. A second later, the latch turned and Mozzie stuck his head out slightly.

"It's you?"

"Mozzie," he heard an irritated reply, "who else would it be? Open up."

Neal perked up.

Could it be? Was that him?

He heard Mozzie unlatch a few more locks and keys and someone entered the little complex.

Peter Burke admired the art deco interior of Mozzie's safe house. It had a modern touch with some angular furniture and calming color scheme. It was cozy, well-furnished, and comfortable.

"Nice place," Burke nodded, "remind me to call you when I'm remodeling."

Mozzie glared at him, "Suit, just you being here was a toil on my part, don't push it."

"Fine," Peter got to business, "where is he?"

"Resting."

"Let me see him."

"Why?" Mozzie narrowed his eyes, "so you can turn him in?"

The FBI agent scoffed, "Why would you ever think such a thing?"

"June called," Mozzie answered with an attitude, "told me how you and your Suit Posse barged in looking to arrest Neal."

Peter's shoulders sagged. Not his best moment.

"That was Hughes, not me," Burke explained, "he's taking this personally, he wants to find Caffrey and put him away for good."

"And you?" Mozzie raised a brow.

"I just want what's best for him," he said that genuinely, "and I know this running around and chasing is no good for his health. I know you care about him, so let me try to help. Where is he?"

"Right here."

Peter and Mozzie turned their heads to Neal who was standing halfway down the stairs. He had a foot on the step behind him, ready to run in case Peter whipped out the handcuffs. Caffrey gazed at him with suspicious eyes, not knowing whether to trust Peter or not.

"Neal," Peter said breathlessly. He had spent all this time trying to find him, and now he was here.

"Peter."

"How are you?"

"Okay."

"Come on down, I'm not going to arrest you."

"How do I know Hughes didn't put you up to this?"

"Neal, how many times have I put my ass on the line to help you when you needed it. What makes you think this time is any different?"

"Maybe you thought I was cracking under the pressure," Neal mulled, "or that Keller was bringing on the heat, so I snapped. So, let me ask you, Peter, do you think I stole the Monet painting?"

Burke looked him dead in the eye, "I don't know, Neal, did you?"

"No," he clenched his jaw.

"Then I believe you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. You've been my CI for years, Caffrey, what kind of relationship do we have if we don't have trust?"

"Oh, please!" Mozzie interjected after minutes of silence, "What is this the Oprah Winfrey Show!? Never trust a Suit, Neal!"

"Then why did you call me here, Mozzie?" Peter turned on him, "You gave up one of the locations of your safe houses to a federal agent. You trusted me, why shouldn't Neal?"

He had a tough time answering that question.

"You two need me," Burke was firm, "and I have a plan."

"What plan?" Mozzie scoffed.

"The key to your anklet is a part of it," he raised a brow enticingly at Neal who looked down at the tracking device wrapped around his leg with scorn, "then we go on from there."

"I don't like staying in the dark, Peter," Neal shook his head, "I don't work like this."

"I know, Neal," he nodded softly, "look, this is a struggle for me too, okay? But you're going to have to trust me."

Neal mulled over the proposition, but what better option did he have? He was relieved to see Peter when he walked into the safe house, and if even Mozzie disclosed the location to him out of desperation then that had to count for something.

"Okay," Caffrey nodded, "let's do it."

"Alright," Peter smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"What do we do first?" Neal asked, shifting in his place a little as a feeling of nausea started building within him.

"Mozzie," Burke turned to Neal's friend, "I'm going to need something from you."

"Quick to give out orders, Suit, but you forget I'm not remotely affiliated with the FBI. Your problem."

"Come on, Mozzie," Peter urged, "do it for Neal."

Mozzie narrowed his eyes but didn't protest. Peter counted that as a sort of acceptance to his proposal.

"Great! I need two dark phones, an unsuspecting car, Play-Doh, and one Cup-of-Noodles."

"What is this, James Bond meets single mother-of-one?

"Just do it!"

"Alright, alright!" Mozzie threw his hands in the air as surrender, "But after this, I'm going to need a long, relaxing, prepaid vacation!"

Mozzie opened the front door, looked right and left, then stepped out. The door shut behind him.

 _Good, the plan is in motion_ , Burke thought, but that all dissipated when he took a look at Neal. The poor guy was pale as a sheet, hanging onto the banister for dear life, he looked uncomfortable, and broke out into a cold sweat.

"Neal, you look awful," Peter's concerns flared, "what's wrong?"

"I-I don't know," he stammered, looking genuinely scared, "I think the-the doctor's meds are wearing off."

Burke rushed up the stairs as Caffrey let go of the railing and almost tumbled down the steps.

"I've got you," Peter confirmed as Neal's arm was wrapped around his neck, "don't worry, Neal, I've got you."

He set Caffrey down on the couch and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. He saw a Ziploc of multi-colored pills and grabbed it to take back to his CI. When he reentered the room, Neal had a hand placed over his forehead and eyes, resting and shielding his concussed self from the harsh daylight. Peter closed the shades and dimmed the lights. He handed Neal the Ziploc who carefully picked out a few pills and gulped them down with the water Peter provided.

Burke let Neal rest for a few minutes, then asked, "How are you feeling now?"

"Better," Caffrey nodded, shaking his head as if to clear away the fuzziness, "Jeez, I don't know what came over me."

"You're still injured, Neal, you need proper rest."

"That can wait until after we've dealt with Keller."

"Hey, Keller should be the least of your worries. You should focus on restoring your health first and then go after him."

"You don't understand, Peter, I can't rest. He keeps trying to antagonize me, draw me into his little games. I don't have time to sit in bed on the sidelines while he's got carte blanche on the streets."

"Do you have any new intel?"

Neal decided to keep his cards close to his chest and didn't mention the rather unpleasant phone call between them, "No, nothing yet. What about you?"

"Nothing, other than that you're accused of stealing the Monet."

"That wasn't me, Peter," Neal's gaze darkened.

"I didn't ask if it was, I trust you."

Caffrey gazed at him, trying to confirm if he was telling the truth.

"Look, Neal, I just want to say I'm glad you're okay," Burke rubbed the back of his neck, "I didn't know if Keller had you or what Hughes was going to do, but know I've got your back."

"Thanks, Peter," Neal smiled and looked at his handler and friend in a new light, "that means a lot to have someone have faith in you."

"It's a big responsibility, Neal, be prepared for Keller and Hughes, you've got attacks on both sides."

"Well, looks like it's us two against the criminals again, huh, Peter?"

"Yeah, except one is my boss and the other is an infamous, international thief extraordinaire and murderer," he grumbled, "but yeah, we'll get through it."

He stood up and held his arms out.

Neal looked at him with wide eyes and a little shock. Was Peter Burke really offering a hug?!

Caffrey stood up, careful to mind his injuries and leaned forward. He wrapped his arms around Peter's shoulders in silent thanks and gratitude. After everyone, Peter was the one who stuck by his side, Peter was the one who never lost hope, Peter was the one to-

Neal felt a sharp prick in the back of his shoulder. He pulled away immediately and glanced behind him. No one there. He looked forward at Peter in confusion and reached an arm back. It was like a tiny needle just punctured his skin. He turned to Peter and his heart dropped. His handler and friend was holding a syringe filled with a tranquilizer and the contents were just stuck into his shoulder.

"Peter," Neal looked at the FBI agent with burning eyes and a hurt expression, "What?"

"I'm sorry, Neal," Peter shook his head, "it's for your own safety."

"What-what is this?" he felt a fuzziness start to creep forward across his mind, sleepiness right on its tail.

"A tranquilizer, it'll help you rest more comfortably before I take you back," Burke didn't meet his eyes. Neal's limbs felt heavy, his head swaying from side to side, darkness starting to overwhelm his vision. He slumped back on the couch and Peter moved forward to help, Neal wanted to shoo him away but had no control over his body.

"It's for your own good, Neal, I'm sorry," Peter kept repeating, and Caffrey could sense the deep sadness in his voice, "it'll be over soon, trust me."

 _Trust_.

Peter told him countless times to trust him, and look where he was now. A minute ago he was hugging Peter for helping and protecting him all these years, and now he was betrayed by his most trustworthy partner. Peter sold him out, a die-hard FBI agent in the end.

Neal's eyes started glazing over and closing, but his final look was a heavy glare towards Peter Burke.

"Neal Caffrey, you're under arrest."

His vision became spotty as darkness rolled in and took him away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you all for waiting so patiently! I hope you guys enjoyed the twist in the last chapter! Hope you like this one!**

Neal slowly started to feel himself come to. His head rolled from side to side, his aching neck protesting the movement. Caffrey tried to lift his arm to rub out the kinks, but was stopped halfway by a metallic clink. He opened his groggy eyes and looked down to see a metal cuff attached to his wrist, the other one attached to the bar of his chair. He shook his head, trying to collect his bearings, and observed his surroundings. It was an FBI interrogation room at Headquarters. Neal was handcuffed to his metal chair, facing an empty desk in a windowless room. A camera was in the far corner, recording his every movements.

A few seconds later, the door opened behind him and a figure entered. It was Jones. Neal looked at him, eyes pleading, but Jones was emotionless and gave him a quick once-over.

"Yeah!" Jones called through the open doorway, "He's awake!"

"Jones," Neal talked quickly, "What's going on? What am I doing here?"

Clinton didn't respond, not even delivering an encouraging smile. It was as if Caffrey wasn't even there, and that created a sick feeling in his stomach. The agent walked out and another figure took his place. It was Hughes. The White Collar Chief himself set a thick file down on the desk with a loud thud and took a seat across from Neal. He straightened his suit jacket and opened the folder with delicate fingers, ones that had been doing this job for years.

"Neal Caffrey," Hughes spoke, "I'm Assistant Special Agent Reese Hughes of the New York White Collar Division. Please understand you are under arrest for the theft of the Monet painting that just resurfaced in the New York Museum of Modern Art. Do you agree with this allegation?"

"What? No! Absolutely not!"

"Sir, you can make this easier on yourself by just confessing, we have incriminating evidence suggesting you are the thief."

"That's absurd! You know me Hughes, you know I don't live that life anymore," Caffrey steeled himself, "now where's Peter?"

"Agent Burke is none of your concern at the moment," Hughes responded sternly, then twisted the file so it was facing Neal, "this is a fingerprint analysis report matching your very prints."

"Someone must've planted those!"

"Oh, really? Who?"

Neal opened his mouth to respond but stopped. If he alerted the FBI about Keller then Caffrey lost all hope of finding him later when the time was right.

"That's what I thought," Hughes nodded, "and to top it all off, here's your trademark."

He turned the file towards him once more and Neal saw the small printed insignia "NC" on the ridge of the embroidered wooden picture frame.

"If you know me then you'd know I'd never be remotely connected to that," Neal spat.

"Caffrey-"

"Hughes, what makes you think I'd be stupid enough to let the FBI catch me with the same trick?" he began, "second, why would I desecrate a beautifully carved, original wood paneling, frame such as this one? I'm an art lover, not a destroyer."

"I don't have time for this!"

"Neither do I! People will be in danger if you keep me here! Now, where's Peter?"

Hughes slammed his file closed and stood up angrily. He pointed a stern finger at Caffrey, "I'm gonna get you for this, Neal. You're gonna be locked away for so long, you're not going to remember what daylight feels like."

Hughes stormed out of the interrogation room, fuming, and he slammed the door behind him.

"I want my lawyer!" Neal yelled at the camera, knowing full well Peter Burke was on the other side of it.

Where was Mozzie? Where was Keller? Most of all, what was he going to do? No Peter, no FBI, no escape. He had to think smart, he had to be clever and artful but his head was killing him! How could he do anything with a raging concussion clogging up his brain.

Peter cared about him, he knew he did. In some strange way, the FBI agent thought he was really helping him by arresting him, and he didn't want to face Neal because he knew he was angry. Neal was smart and mature, sure he was upset with Peter but he knew he was doing his duty and trying to look out for him at the same time. He couldn't change Burke, he was trained for this and forced to pick between two different worlds.

Neal took a few deep breaths and began to formulate his plan.

Peter watched Neal Caffrey from behind the glass pane separating him and the interrogation room. His fingernails were chewed to the beds, the agent's anxiety and worry levels through the rough. Neal's final glare as he went under was burned into his brain, one that proved he'd never forgive him.

 _Stick to the plan_...he told himself. Despite that final glare and obvious disbelief, Peter really was really trying to help Neal. Keller was a danger to Caffrey, and he wouldn't let him appear all banged up and bruised again. Neal was kidnapped, yet acted as if everything was right in the world. That just doesn't happen.

Caffrey was looking right and left, scanning the interrogation room, his con senses kicking in. He couldn't trust Peter now, that left him to rely on himself and now he was looking to escape. Burke kept a watchful eye on the cuffs.

Hughes was a little rough on Neal, especially since his CI was still recovering from a concussion, but it would be over soon. Peter was going to make everything alright.

"You okay?" Burke turned around as Jones stood behind him with a fresh cup of coffee in his hands.

"Yeah," Peter laughed halfheartedly, "Thanks, Jones." He took the coffee.

"I know this must be tough, Peter," his agent began, "but Caffrey's gotta pay up for what he did. Don't get me wrong, I like him just as much as the next guy, but we live by a certain set of codes, and that doesn't include stealing at your own leisure for the hell of it."

"I know," he listened intently, "still feel crappy about it though."

"It may not seem like it now, but you did the right thing."

"Thanks," he took a sip of the brew, "I don't know, I just kept thinking why Caffrey would want to do it? After all this time? Why jeopardize a perfectly good deal?"

"People do things for their own reasons, maybe he just missed the thrill of it."

"But come on, Neal can't be that stupid to pull a stunt like that on one of New York's most buzzing art pieces at the moment," Peter shook his head, it just doesn't make sense.

Jones shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Where's Hughes?" Burke asked.

"Cooling down in his office."

"I'd better go see him," Peter set his mug down, thanked Jones again, and headed for his boss' office.

He knocked on the door, "Hughes?"

"Peter, come in," Reese grunted and the FBI agent obeyed. They sat in a moment of silence.

"I'm guessing you're here regarding Caffrey's brief interrogation."

Peter nodded.

"You think I was being too harsh?"

"Just a little."

"We're the FBI, Peter, not a preschool. He's a criminal, we're the law, this is how it works."

"I understand that, sir."

"I know you two were close, Peter, that's why I want you to conduct the next interrogation."

"What?"

"He trusts you, Burke."

"He trusted me, Hughes, that's not likely anymore."

"Pony up, Peter, this is your job. Do as your superior tells you to."

He was getting a little tired of that excuse. Peter gritted his teeth but acquiesced to the request.

"Right away, sir."

A second later, Jones came running into the office. He burst through the doors, out of breath.

"Jones, what is it?" Hughes furrowed his brows in confusion.

"It's Caffey," he panted, "he needs help."

"Help?" Peter stood up immediately, "What do you mean, help?"

"We're gonna need a medic."

Peter's eyes widened and he burst out of the office, sprinting to the interrogation room. Hughes and Jones were on his heels. He slammed himself against the glass pane and saw Caffrey's head lolling against his chest, his body limp, eyes closed.

"Neal!" Peter rammed himself through the door and ran to his CI. He grabbed him by the shoulders, "Neal! Can you hear me?"

Hughes was at the door, looking grim, Jones was behind Neal, unlocking the cuffs.

"Hurry, Jones!" Burke barked at his agent, "Get him out of those!"

He unlocked the metal restraints and Burke grabbed Neal's legs, Jones got his arms and they laid him flat on the table.

"Is he breathing?" Clinton asked.

Peter stuck two fingers under Neal's neck and waited a dreadful second, "Yeah." he breathed with relief, "he is."

"What happened?" Hughes called at the door.

"It's his injuries," Peter snapped, "you kept pushing him and this is what happened. He was on the run and we weren't careful," Burke beat himself up, "I wasn't careful."

"Alright, everyone just calm down," Hughes tried to deescalate the excitement, "look, I'll call the paramedics, Burke and Jones keep an eye on him."

Their boss walked out to his office, presumably to call for medical help.

Peter was through with this, he wasn't going to wait around for Hughes to call the paramedics when who knows what was wrong with Neal. He took one look at his friend and saw those innocent features, his black hair tangled in his face, his skin white as a sheet. Caffrey needed proper care, and the interrogation room wasn't the place.

"Jones," he instructed, "grab his arms again."

"What? Peter, why?"

"Just do it," he whispered, poking his head out the door as Hughes was still on the phone, "hurry!"

"Peter…." Jones knew what his superior was going to do.

"Clinton," Burke begged, "do you trust me?"

He said those exact words to Neal earlier today and look where that got him.

"Yes," his agent answered.

"Okay, grab his arms, I'll get the legs," Burke ordered, "we're getting him out of here."

"Here? Peter, we can't do that!"

"Jones, I can't leave him here like this!"

"Hughes is calling the ambulance, they'll be here soon!"

"And they'll keep him handcuffed in the hospital, exposing him to all types of dangers Keller could try! What if someone comes in and injects a lethal substance into his IV, what if someone poisons the food, smothers him with a pillow, you get the idea! I can't, Jones, I can't!"

"Burke, Jones, where are you?" Hughes' voice rang from the hall.

Jones shook his head, "I'm sorry, boss, I'm sorry. I can't do this."

His eyes were regretful and pleading, but he walked out of the interrogation room. Peter was alone now, only the unconscious Caffrey next to him.

"Hang on, Neal, hang on," Peter took a deep breath and ran towards Hughes' office. The employees had stopped their work, all looking at Burke, wondering what was going to happen next.

"Hughes," Peter ran into the office, "we can't take him to the hospital, he's a target there! It'll be Open Season on Neal Caffrey!"

"Peter, I won't argue about this any longer," Hughes was stern, "we will have round the clock guards on him, it'll be fine."

"It won't, sir, not with Keller on the loose!"

"Keller?" his superior scoffed, "Peter, what in God's name are you rambling on about this time?! Keller is dead!"

"No, sir, he's not," Burke shook his head, "he set Caffrey up to steal the Monet! I knew he wasn't guilty, but I brought him in and-"

"And what, Peter? We're you planning on somehow freeing Caffrey once he was in, knowing the information to his tracking anklet and data were here?"

"Peter…" Jones looked at him, shocked and disappointed.

In truth, that was exactly what Peter was trying to do. From the start, he knew Neal was not guilty and tranquilizing him and bringing the CI to the FBI headquarters was so he could alter the data, to help clear his name. He felt so guilty when he injected him when all he was trying to do was help him. Now, Neal didn't trust him, Mozzie didn't trust him, Hughes didn't trust him, Jones didn't trust him, and he couldn't even trust himself.

"That's it, Peter, the badge and gun," Hughes held out his hand, "give them to me."

"Sir-"

"Now, Peter."

The lights shut off. The entire floor went dark. Burke looked to the ceiling in confusion, all the power to the building went out.

"What's going on?"

"The power!"

"Someone get the lights!"

Thankfully, the backup power ignited and the generators kicked in. FBI emergency protocols went into action and now the dark floor was illuminated again, but the scene was very different. The floor was in disarray, papers thrown, employees shocked, and Hughes, Jones, and Burke looking around in confusion.

"What the hell?" Jones looked around, his hand on the hilt of his gun.

"Jones," Hughes said in a low voice, "go check the interrogation room."

A feeling of dread dawned on Burke's shoulders and he followed Jones and Hughes who were walking briskly to the room. They rounded the corner.

"Oh, no."

"Damn it!" Hughes slammed the wall with his fist, fury radiating off him in waves, "Damn Caffrey!"

Burke was still in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open in shock, because the room was empty. There was a tracking anklet not attached to a leg, a black electronic key, and a note that said:

 **"Thanks for the key."**

 **-NC**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here's a quick update! Sorry the chapter is a little shorter, but wanted to get some new stuff to you guys quickly! Thank you guys SOOO much for the love in the review section, it makes my day! Enjoy!**

"How did he run away like that?" Hughes shouted with rage, addressing the employees on the White Collar floor, "We're a mess! Caffrey just walked out!"

Peter hung his head. Neal escaped.

They looked back at the security footage and noticed when Peter and Clinton were carrying Caffrey, he slyly lifted the electronic key from Jones' coat and kept it with him until the agents walked out of the room and he had the opportunity to get rid of the tracking anklet. The power went out, and Caffrey used the stairs so no one would see or track him in the elevator. It was a clever, he pretended to be unconscious, knowing they'd all panic.

 _Clever, clever Caffrey._

But now Reese was on a rampage, even more fervent to find and bust Neal, but there was no tracking anklet to guide them. Neal was gone, all he left behind was that cheeky note that only infuriated Hughes more.

He needed to get to Neal first, but where could he start?

Hughes had asked him to resign his badge and gun, but thankfully the new commotion had distracted his previous thoughts. He had to endure the warpath of his boss until he cooled down and ordered some new instructions on what to do next. Jones was at his side, not looking at Burke, still remembering what he had tried to make him do. Try to make him abandon his oath for Neal Caffrey. That was a bad move on Peter's part. Jones was a die-hard FBI agent through and through, there was no stopping him from obeying the rules he learned at Quantico. He would have to mend that bridge later.

Mozzie was pacing at his MacDougal Alley safe house. He went to give Peter and Neal a minute of privacy, and when he came back the two were gone. This had "Suit" written all over it. Burke probably abducted Neal, was torturing him this very second for information on Keller, blaming him for the theft of the Monet. It was stupid and reckless of him to believe FBI agent Peter Burke could be trusted. He tried calling everyone he knew, but none of them had a word on Caffrey.

He was waiting anxiously for almost two hours before his phone buzzed on the coffee table. Mozzie ran towards it, heart finally fluttering with an emotion other than fear and worry.

It was from an unknown number but the person behind the message was recognizable: **Moz, meet at the bridge. Central Park. 10 min. -NC**

He raced over, Mozzie had never run so fast in his life. He made it to the bridge in eight minutes, it was a sort of meeting spot he and Neal established years ago and it stayed in their books since. No one really ever passed under it, it was dark, gloomy, a little shady. Other than the occasional dealer, they were safe. He waited under the shade of the bridge, hearing bikers and joggers trot overhead. Mozzie looked down at his watch and paced, eager to see his best friend and con partner.

"Coast clear?" he heard a whisper.

Mozzie felt chills roll up his spine at the voice, relief flooding through him.

"Yes," he spoke quietly, "now will you come out now and let me see you?"

He heard a rustling in the bushes behind him and out stepped Neal Caffrey. He had on dark sunglasses and a ratty old baseball cap. Mozzie knew that was torture all on its own, Neal wouldn't be caught dead before he submitted himself to the misery of "hat hair" after wearing baseball caps. Desperate times called for desperate measures. His clothes were crinkled, his skin was pale, but it was him.

Mozzie charged forward, enveloping his friend in a hug before pulling away letting the angry worry hit him, "Where have you been!? I've been worried sick! I came back to the safe house and you two had disappeared! I didn't know who or what or why or-"

"Mozzie, Mozzie!" Neal stopped him with a laugh, "It's a long story. I'm here, I'm safe, but I need to lie low. We can't go back to MacDougal Alley and June's place will be crawling with agents. Where do we go?"

"My safe houses are compromised," Mozzie cursed, "we can't go there, but there is one place I can think of."

"Where?"

"The last place the Suit would ever think of."

Twenty minutes later, Neal found himself in front of Peter and Elizabeth Burke's house.

"Mozzie, we can't stay here!"

"Why? It's perfect! The Suits would never think you were stupid enough to come to an agent's house when the entire FBI is looking for you!"

"But-"

"No, 'buts', Neal, this is our best option!"

"Fine, but does Elizabeth know we're here at least?"

"She will in about two minutes!"

Neal rolled his eyes, but stepped out of the car and followed his lunatic friend to the front porch.

Elizabeth was reading a novel on her couch when an urgent knocking on her back door caused her to stir from her comfortable position. She stood up, sighing, set the book down and approached the kitchen with caution. No one ever came through the back door…

She peeked around the corner and saw two familiar looking faces.

"Mozzie?!" she shouted, "Neal!?"

"Elizabeth!" Mozzie knocked repeatedly, "Open up!"

"Moz-" she didn't even finished her sentence before she took a look at Neal and her heart tore. He wasn't his usual debonair, spiffy self. He looked disheveled, sickly, and sleep deprived. Her motherly instincts overtook her and she opened the door.

The duo shuffled inside quietly, looking to and fro for any prying ears.

"Sit, sit!" El fussed as she pulled up a chair for Neal, "Mozzie, what's going on?"

"Long, _long_ story," he panted, "but we need shelter, and we're out of options."

"So you come to the house of an FBI agent?" she scoffed, smiling slightly.

"Trust me, there the Suit hangs up his suit was not my ideal choice, but we're desperate," Mozzie rolled his eyes, "I just need you to take a look at Neal, see if he's okay for the time being."

"Of course," Elizabeth stepped forward to the exhausted looking Neal and held his chin with one hand delicately, "Oh, you poor thing," her heart swelled with worry and affection.

"I'm-I'm okay, honest-"

"I don't want to hear it," she shushed him, "you are staying here, resting up, and not complaining about it."

He looked like he was about to argue but his shoulders relaxed in relief, "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Anytime, hon," she smiled sweetly, something Neal hadn't seen in a while, "now tell me what happened."

Half an hour later, Mozzie finished recounting the elaborate tale, Neal incorporating his final adventure in the FBI building to an open-mouthed Elizabeth.

"Neal, you did all of that with a concussion and other injuries!?" she gaped.

"I had to," he shrugged, "I need to stop Keller before he puts me away for good."

"Well, what are you planning to do?"

"I left that up to the brains of the operation." Neal nodded to Mozzie.

Mozzie shook his head, "I've been so flustered, I've barely had enough time to think of anything! I don't know what Keller has up his sleeve, he can still be hiding a few powerful cards."

"First, we focus on getting you healthy again," Elizabeth ordered as she continued to groom and care for Neal, bandaging his wounds, giving him much-needed medication, "then you two plan."

"Fine by me."

"I'm good with that."

Just then, the front door opened and closed.

"Honey, I'm home!"

The voice of FBI agent Peter Burke sounded through the house.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all for your patience and dedication to this story! Enjoy the chapter!**

"El?" Peter called, "Honey, are you home?"

"Um, yes! Yes, in here, hon!"

He smiled with relief, happy to be home, relaxing in the comfort of his wife.

"How was your day?" he hung his coat in the closet and walked into the kitchen. He rounded the corner and there she was, at the counter, making dinner, "hey," he smiled and gave her a kiss.

"Hey," she responded, smiling.

"Making dinner?"

"Yup," she nodded, "drinks are in the fridge."

"Excellent," Peter clapped his hands together and made his way towards the refrigerator.

"Tough day?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah," he shook his head, "this whole deal with the Monet is just spinning out of control. Not to mention, I had to arrest Neal today…"

The knife she was using to chop vegetables dropped from Elizabeth's hands. She was staring at him wide-eyed, mouth open, but Peter caught the quick glance of her eyes to the hallway.

"El?" Peter cocked his head, "What?"

"Nothing-nothing," she said a little too quickly.

Peter put his beer bottle on the counter and reached for his belt. No gun, he was off duty. This wasn't the first time Keller targeted Elizabeth, he may have sent a few men into the house to deal with him and his wife. No, that was not going to happen.

Burke quietly went to the knife rack and pulled out a sharp blade.

"No, Peter, no," Elizabeth shook her head, "you don't have to. It was nothing, there's nothing."

"It's okay," he calmed her down, "I've got this."

He moved towards the hallway.

"No, you don't understand-"

Burke rushed into the hallway, weapon ready. He saw two lumbering figures in the corner of his eye. The two intruders dived behind the furniture as Peter reached his jacket and pulled out his official, FBI issued gun.

"Freeze, FBI!"

The two hitmen sent by Keller were hiding behind the furniture of his living room, he saw that when he was rushing towards his coat.

"Show yourself!"

Elizabeth was at the doorway, "Peter-!"

"Elizabeth, get back inside!"

"No, Peter-"

"Elizabeth, it's dangerous, these men can hurt you!"

" _Au contraire_ , Suit, we just want to get out of here!"

Two pairs of hands shot up in the sky behind his living room couch and that voice was annoyingly familiar.

"MOZZIE?!"

"Present…"

Peter bit his tongue, drawing blood. He was fuming, his blood pressure through the roof. Burke closed his eyes, not opening them until he took a few, deep breaths and could control his mounting rage.

" _Get out from behind the sofa."_

Mozzie stood up warily, glancing over the sofa to make sure it was clear. He stood up, his clothes ruffled and glasses resting lopsided on the bridge of his nose.

"Afternoon, Suit."

Elizabeth pulled him towards the doorway, just in case Peter was going to make a sudden movement not in his favor. Burke would never understand why his wife even liked the guy.

"Neal," Peter took a deep breath, shoulders sagging, "you too, I know you're there."

There was absolute silence for a moment, before Peter could see a few dark hair strands peeking out from behind the couch cushion. He stood up completely, rubbing his arm.

"Hi, Peter," he said sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

Peter didn't say anything, but just looked at Caffrey. The poor guy was a mess, he looked sick and frail, and out of options at this point. Hell, you'd have to be really desperate if your were a criminal seeking refuge at an FBI's house.

Burke shoved his gun back into the pocket of his coat and sighed heavily, running a hand down his face, "I'm getting a drink, who wants one?" Peter walked into the kitchen.

Mozzie, El, and Neal we're all on edge, just waiting for the FBI agent to snap. But he didn't. He walked calmly into the kitchen and that's where they all followed. By the time they entered, Peter laid out three empty wine glasses on the table, knowing Mozzie and Neal would find it a sin if he laid out beer as an offering.

They were still wary. Elizabeth stood next to her husband faithfully, and he rubbed her shoulder. He wasn't upset with her, not one bit. She did good, bringing Neal in, caring for him, he needed it.

Neal and Mozzie, on the other hand, were not completely at ease. Neal was nearest to the doorway, ready to break for it and Mozzie was standing protectively in front of him.

"Boys, relax," Peter held up a hand, "I'm not here to arrest, just here to talk."

"You sure about that, Suit," Mozzie narrowed his eyes, "because that didn't stop you last time."

"Mozzie-"

"Peter?" El looked at him with furrowed brows.

"Look, it was a misunderstanding," Peter laughed nervously, "I was trying to help Neal, I didn't think-"

"What? That an FBI agent would arrest a criminal like Neal? Yeah, pure genius, Suit."

"Enough, enough!" Neal spoke for the first time, "It's done, it's over."

"Neal-" Mozzie argued.

"Moz, Peter has the power to arrest us at any moment. We are the FBI's top priority at the moment, and he's had plenty of chances to cuff us and he hasn't yet. Let's give him a chance."

His friend grumbled, but didn't respond.

"Thank you, Neal."

"Don't thank me yet."

Burke looked up with furrowed brows. Neal was looking at him with those bright blue eyes, but they were angry and disappointed. He was mad at Peter for what he did, and he had the right to be, but he was sensible to understand why he did what he did.

"Neal…"

"I don't want to hear it, Peter," Caffrey held up and curt hand shook his head tightly, "I just need to find Keller and that's it."

"Please, you have to understand-"

"I do, Peter. You were just doing your civic duty or whatever rehearsed phrase the FBI teaches you."

"It's not like that, I did it to fool Hughes."

"You sure weren't fooling anyone, Peter, because I got the short end of the stick and that included an interrogation by Hughes."

"Look, the reason I brought you in was to keep you there so Keller couldn't get to you. You were a moving target on the streets, and I'm sorry but I can't see you beat up and bruised like that again. Mozzie can agree with me on that one."

"Hey, don't drag me into this, Suit, fight your own battles."

"Keller has targeted me, my wife, and my best friend," he gestured to Neal, "I wasn't going to stand around and do nothing. You were in no shape to fight back and you're worse now. It didn't go how I planned, I was going to keep you in the interrogation room while I worked out a contingency plan but then you pulled the whole medical emergency charade, took Jones' key for your anklet, and now you have an even bigger crowd coming after your heels."

"How can I believe you, Peter? After everything, you can't expect me to trust you wholeheartedly."

"I'm not asking that, Neal, I just want you to hear me out," Burke smiled, glad they were getting somewhere, "I have a plan."

"A plan?"

"A perfect way to trap Keller. While you were on your wild goose chase, I managed to fit together the best method."

"Okay, great!" Neal rubbed his hands together, "Let's hear it!"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Elizabeth interjected right as Burke opened his mouth to speak, "No way we are talking about plans while Neal is still in this condition."

"Elizabeth, no please, I'm fine-"

"Neal, I won't allow it."

"El," Burke even tried to argue, "we're so close to catching-"

"No," she shook her head firmly, "my house, my rules."

"The sooner we hear the plan, the better!" Neal felt restless.

"And the plan can wait after a warm shower and a good night's rest, alright?"

Caffrey opened his mouth to argue, but the minute he heard "warm shower" and "rest" his muscles relaxed. All that pent up exhaustion, stress, and pain was finally starting to unwind. He felt his limbs go weak, his eyelids starting to get heavy. That was what he needed right now, Elizabeth was always right.

"Well…" he shrugged, "I mean, I guess it can wait a few minutes."

"Yeah, right," Elizabeth smiled as she moved towards Neal, "it can wait till tomorrow morning, you are going to finally sleep in a proper bed, mister."

"I can't object to that," Neal huffed with tired laughter, then looked to Burke, "Peter, is that okay?"

This was still the agent's house, this was still his call to make, to harbor a fugitive.

"I think there's no way I'm gonna win agaisnt my wife on this one," he smiled with an amused expression, "go on up, Neal, get some rest."

Elizabeth rubbed Neal's shoulders as she steered him up the stairs. His legs were tripping over themselves, his eyes barely open as he took the stairs step by step. The idea of finally being at ease was a feeling of bliss, and he let Elizabeth take him away, to care for him like the mother he never had.

When he regained his strength, Neal was going to find Keller, he was going to catch him, and he was going to put him away for good.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the delayed update! Here's the next chapter, the end is near!**

"Wait, wait, wait, can you go over it one more time?"

"This is the worst plan I've ever heard."

"It'll work, I know it will."

"Honey, it does seem a little reckless…"

" _Reckless?_ Suit, this is suicide!"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"No, I'm too busy criticizing your poor excuse for a plan to think straight!"

"Come on, guys," Neal stood up next to Peter, "give Peter a break."

He looked a lot healthier now, the color had returned to his cheeks, and he seemed to be standing up taller. Elizabeth disappeared upstairs with Neal for about 45 minutes before she came down, satisfied that he was comfortable enough despite his pleas that a couch would be suitable as well. Mozzie, surprisingly, was still around. He didn't talk to Peter all that much for the time they were down there together, but at least he wasn't running away. He cared too much about Neal to do that.

"Look," Peter cleared his throat when Elizabeth was still upstairs. Mozzie was sitting across the counter, drumming his fingers on the granite before he looked up, "I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," he huffed, "it's Neal you want to say that to."

"I know," Burke moved a little closer, "but I know it had to be tough to trust me, and then to think I betrayed you. I know you probably felt guilt because you were the one who told me of his whereabouts and I took him in, that you thought it was your fault he was arrested in the first place, but know I wanted to help him."

Mozzie was looking to the floor, eyebrows furrowed. Peter hit the jackpot with his allegations. Mozzie did feel like a poor friend and the catalyst for Neal's arrest by the FBI agent, but he never thought the Suit would actually acknowledge those feelings. Peter could see pain, guilt, betrayal, and sadness in his eyes, the emotions radiating off of him. Mozzie opened his mouth to say something, and it seemed like it wouldn't be a biting, snippy response, but then his eyes became guarded again and he scoffed, "Yeah, whatever, Suit."

He turned away and went into the living room.

Peter's shoulders sagged a little bit, but he understood. Criminals and cons like Mozzie and Neal couldn't let their emotions guide their actions, they needed to be ironclad, steely, and laconic. There was no room for error and emotions were what caused mistakes. Take Neal, when he got caught by the FBI when Peter's trap included Kate, his love. Error, mistake, feelings, they went hand in hand.

Elizabeth came down, and she started to work on dinner again, but Burke stopped her, "No, no, hon, let me get take out. You've been working all day and now we've got two extra mouths to feed."

"Thank you, Peter," she smiled, "but really, I can handle it."

He held her hands, and noticed they were red and shaking a little. Maybe from anxiety, maybe from worry, maybe from overworking, but Peter wasn't going to let his beautiful wife tend to them like a servant.

"Sit," he guided her to the living room where Mozzie was sitting on the couch reading a coffee table book, "I'll be right back. I don't want to see you so much as pick up a ladle, understood?"

"Understood," she smiled and sat down by Mozzie.

He came back 45 minutes later with Thai takeout and a plan gearing up in his head. Neal was awake by the time he arrived, and he checked the perimeter to make sure no lingering FBI agents were watching or suspecting.

He laid out the plates and the four dug in, eating hungrily, finally with a little relaxation and relief after a long, stressful day.

"So, what's the plan?" Neal asked, looking at each one of them, "because I sure as hell don't have any. Mozzie?"

"Why do you always assume I have a plan?"

"Peter?"

"Actually," he smiled, leaning back, "I do."

And the night resumed, with Peter reciting a completely reckless, irrational, dangerous, high-risk plan, but it was the only plan that had a very, very slim chance of success. And you better be sure that's the one they went with.

By the time they finished discussing, the clock ready 1:00 AM. Caffrey yawned and Elizabeth ordered him up to bed. Mozzie couldn't risk leaving the house yet, so he settled with the couch. Elizabeth locked and cleaned up and she and Peter headed up to bed.

"You know this plan is crazy, right?" she stood in the bathroom doorway, looking at her husband with a raised brow.

"I know," he sighed, but there was a twinkle in his eye, "but I think it'll work."

"You're cutting it close, Peter, messing with forces you can't control."

"Then let's just hope the cards line up in our favor then."

"Hmm," she approached him, "the clean cut Burke leaving his choices up to fate, huh? That's unlike you."

"Let's just say, I've been doing things my way and they haven't really been panning out," he shrugged, "maybe time to try some new angles."

"Now, you're thinking like a con," she winked at him and smiled.

Hughes was calling his superiors left and right, mediating his fuming bosses on how a CI was able to steal a rare painting right under their noses. He hung up the phone for what felt like the fiftieth time today. His ear ached with all the yells and shouts that it had received, the office was in chaos after the sudden power outage, his troops were out on the streets hunting Caffrey with no leads. This was the definition of a disaster.

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," he groaned.

Jones appeared through the doorway.

"Clinton, sit down," he straightened himself up and sat attentively.

"Hey, boss," his agent sat in front of him.

"How's the ground?" Hughes had put Jones in charge of the teams scouring the city.

"Not looking good," he shook his head.

"When the power went out, the cameras did too. No footage. We're trying to find some witnesses who may have seen a man matching his description. So far, no luck"

"All right, keep looking," Hughes sighed, "you're doing great."

"Uh, boss, I actually came in to ask you something."

"Yeah? What is it Jones?"

"It's about Agent Burke, sir."

"Go on."

"It's just that…" it seemed difficult for him to speak, "When Caffrey was down, Burke tried to get me to help take him out of the building."

"Jones," Hughes leaned forward, "are you sure?"

"Couldn't be more sure in my life," he bowed his head.

"Are you suggesting that Agent Peter Burke, a long time loyal agent and personal friend of mine, was assisting the suspect Neal Caffrey in his escape?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, sir, I'm just trying to bring something to your attention."

"That's a serious accusation, Agent Jones," Hughes leaned back in his chair.

"I know, sir."

Hughes tried to think about this absurd theory. Burke would never, Burke was his friend for over fifteen years, he couldn't….then again, he was awfully close with Neal caffrey. Almost like a father son bond. It made sense; Neal never had a father presence and Peter didn't have a kid. It fit perfectly.

"I know how it sounds, sir, but-"

"No, no," Hughes held up a hand, "thank you, Jones, I appreciate it."

"Thank you, sir," Jones stood up, buttoned his jacket, and stepped out.

"Marla!" Hughes called. His assistant rushed in within a few seconds.

"Yes, Agent Hughes?"

"Find Burke," he said with a heavy sigh, "tell me if he went home directly. I want to know if he stopped anywhere on the way."

"Agent Burke, sir?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure…?"

"Yes," he said a little snappily.

"Okay…" Marla bowed her head and exited the office, "will get that right away, sir."

She exited and Hughes dry washed his face with his hands.

Just then, Jones came barging back into his office, "Hughes! Agent Hughes, sir!"

"Jones?" he looked at him with alarm. His agent was panting and there was a wild look in his eyes, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Caffrey!" he shouted, "He's turned up, he's at the museum!"

"Neal Caffrey?" he stood up, "At the museum he stole the Monet from?!"

"Yes!"

"We got him!" he cried, "get the teams, surround the museum, call S.W.A.T.! I want Neal Caffrey in cuffs and in prison by tomorrow!"

 **Until next time! Leave me a fav/follow/review!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for being so patient! Here's the next chapter, enjoy!**

 _"There are reports that convicted felon Neal Caffrey is inside the building at this very moment_ ," a news reporter spoke into the camera, " _Caffrey is the prime suspect in the case regarding the stolen Monet painting that was unearthed earlier this week. The FBI and S.W.A.T. have the perimeter surrounded, mobilizing teams to enter the building and detain Caffrey."_

"What's the hold up?" Hughes shouted, looking at men in FBI jackets grouping together and discussing entrance routes, "Let's go, let's go! Caffrey is in there and he is not getting out,

Indeed, Neal Caffrey was inside. A police officer had handed him a photo just taken moments before he arrived. It was Caffrey, easily identifiable by his tall form and long black hair. It was a blurry shot, of him walking hastily past a camera, but it was definitely him. Hughes smiled when he looked at the photo. He was going to put Caffrey behind bars for a long time.

"Sir, sir!" he turned around, and saw Jones running towards him. God bless that man, he was working hard and never failed to get his work done diligently.

"Jones, what have you got for me?"

"Sir," Jones came to a panting stop, "it's a hostage, Caffrey has a hostage, sir."

"I want eyes up there now, someone confirm the hostage!" Hughes shouted angrily, his blood pumping. He didn't peg Caffrey as the hostage type, but he was young and flamboyant, he liked big shows.

There were a few of his men high up on a rooftop and they heeded orders, looking carefully through high powered binoculars to get a glimpse at Neal's hostage.

"Hostage confirmed, sir!" one of the officers yelled down at him, "short, stout, middle aged male, red shirt, light brown hair! Probably just a random at a museum who got caught in the crossfire!"

"Damn it!" Hughes cursed, then turned to Jones. Now, the detainment would take longer because they were bargaining with a hostage's life, a clever move pulled by Caffrey because it bought him more time, "Jones, I want your teams ready to go in five, understood?!"

"Yes, sir!" he ran off.

"What's the holdup?" Peter's voice sounded behind Hughes. The Chief FBI Agent turned around in surprise to hear Burke's voice and looked him up and down. He was wearing a fresh, clean suit, his FBI badge buttoned to the waistband of his pants as it gleamed under the sunlight.

"Peter?" Hughes cleared his throat, he honestly didn't expect him here."

"Yes, boss, came to help."

"Well," he nodded, "that'd be nice, what are you doing standing around for? Go help Jones and mobilize the teams. Caffrey's holed up in the museum and he's got a hostage."

Peter turned a little white, "H-hostage?"

Hughes nodded, eyeing Peter very carefully, looking for some sort of crack in a carefully planned facade. However hard he looked, he couldn't find one. Burke looked genuinely shocked, but he clenched his teeth and looked up, "Where's Jones?"

"Down by the emergency entrance," he nodded his head to the left, "head there. Keep in touch, I want details about everything, is that clear?"

"Crystal, boss," Peter stormed off.

"Burke?" Jones looked up in shock as Peter approached.

"Tell me what we've got going for us, Jones?" he eyed the few dozen men lingering around Clinton for orders, "this is Caffrey, we've got to play it smart."

"It-it's good to see you again, Peter," he cleared his throat, "we've got maybe 25 men, and we're just about ready to head inside."

"What? Go knocking in through the side and hope Caffrey doesn't move by the time you reach him?" Burke scoffed, "Sloppy, Jones."

"What do you propose?"

"Go in from the top."

"The top?"

"The roof access. It's perfect, he won't be expecting it and he'll be forced to go lower and meet up with Hughes' guys on the ground floors."

"Wow," Jones nodded, "okay, Peter, that sounds like a plan."

"Everyone get that?" Burke turned to the 25 men under their command.

They all nodded in understanding.

"Good, let's move in!"

They stealthily crept into the building, the 25 men perfectly trained for silence and efficiency as they moved as a unit. They cleared the first floor, no stragglers, no hostages, and no Caffrey.

"Hughes wants Caffrey as soon as possible, so we're splitting up," Burke ordered with a whisper, "I want men to take the right wing, another group takes the left, a few men to the back rooms and archives, and some to stay here on the first floor in case Caffrey decides to crawl back out, understood? SWAT is coming in from the roof, so Neal will be moving down soon enough," Peter concluded, "but your orders are to take Caffrey in ALIVE. If I see a body bag being rolled out of these doors later today, I swear the consequences will be like hell on Earth, understood?"

All the men nodded in understanding, even Jones, "Great, get moving. Jones and I will be close by."

They men split into their groups seamlessly, easily deciding their positions and heading off. Peter took a deep breath. Jones was at his side, "Good work, boss," he smiled, "nice to have you back, Peter."

"Nice to be back, Jones," he cleared his throat, "I wanted to apologize for what happened at the office, there was a lot of pressure and stress at the moment, I wasn't thinking clearly."

"That's okay, Burke," he nodded, "thank you."

"Come on," Peter started to walk, "let's get moving."

Burke made a turn, a sign above the pathway he chose said "Service Hallway."

"Peter? Peter! Where are you going?"

Jones ran to catch up, the dim lit hallway getting darker by the second, "Peter? Peter, where are you-"

Clinton felt something hard and heavy strike the back of his head. His vision went black as he crumpled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Peter emerged from the shadows as he looked down at Jones' unconscious body with guilt and pity.

"I'm sorry, Clint," Burke sighed deeply, looking down at one of his best men forlornly. He stuck to hands under his arms and dragged him to the wall, resting his back against the plaster and out of harm's way from the action.

"I'll be back when this is all over," Burke spoke to Jones' limp form, but he patted his agent's shoulder and ran out the hall.

"This is a ridiculous plan, it'll never work!"

"Trust me, Moz, Peter's got it under control."

"Oh, yeah! Just how controlled was it last time when you had to escape the FBI headquarters building with a blackout and faking your soon-to-be death!?"

"Mozzie, calm down-"

"Boys," Peter called as he jogged over to them. Burke looked up at the sign labeling their section of the museum. Exactly where he told them to meet, in eye of the FBI and police,

"Oh, great," Mozzie rolled his eyes, "Suit's back."

"Like it or not, we need to get moving. There's a little over two dozen men in the building hunting you down," Burke pointed to Neal.

Caffrey gulped.

Peter continued, "First thing's first. Neal, since you've got the hostage," he gestured to Mozzie in a brown wig and red shirt, the exact same description given by the FBI team outside, "they don't want to kill you on sight just in case you harm the hostage. Right now, that's the only leverage you have. Soon, Mozzie you'll need to do your bit and then Neal can move forward with the plan."

"Which is a ridiculous idea, by the way," Mozzie piped in.

"Yeah, yeah," Burke rolled his eyes, "Neal, you've got the fake?"

"Yup," Caffrey held up the canvas that was the exact replica of the stolen Monet painting, but the one in his hands was fake.

"Good, make sure you keep it in sight so the eyes outside can catch a glimpse of it."

"Got it."

"Mozzie, you know what you have to do, right?"

"Yes, yes."

"Where's Jones?" Neal narrowed his eyes, "when I looked out the window I saw you with him."

"He's safe," Peter felt fresh guilt spike in his chest, "you need to be careful. SWAT is coming in from the roof and the FBI teams are pushing up. You'll be trapped if you don't act soon enough."

"Where is he?" Neal paced, "you said he'd be here."

"He will," Peter didn't sound so assured, even to himself.

Mozzie scoffed in the corner.

"Okay, Mozzie, you should get going," Burke nodded, exhaling deeply, "Neal and I will continue."

Mozzie nodded slightly and approached Neal. Caffrey smiled sadly and they hugged. Peter looked away, not wanting to ruin their moment. Mozzie pulled away, and looked at Neal.

"I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, Moz, see you soon."

Mozzie pulled away, straightened his wig, and ran down the hall.

"Now, we wait," Peter tapped his foot against the ground.

"Peter, how do we know Keller will come? We haven't had a word from him in days."

"He'll show, Neal, with all this media going around and now that there's word you have a hostage, he's going to want some of that attention. Claim his prize."

"You don't know that…."

"Neal, I've been working White Collar for a long time, you get to know the criminal archetypes. Keller is flamboyant, an over-achiever, he likes big schemes, big plans, big heists. After all of that, he wants to be known for what he's accomplished. He's very similar to you in many ways."

"To me?" Neal scoffed.

"Yes," Burke nodded.

"Oh, really?" Caffrey crossed his arms, "And what sort of archetype do I fulfill?"

"You are also flamboyant, you like lavish things and living the high life," he smiled, "you like to go after the finer things in life, which means more high risk and dangerous situations. You also like the attention that it brings you, makes you feel accomplished, like him."

Neal grumbled and turned, but it was true. Peter hit it dead center.

A slow clap started off in the distance.

Immediately, Caffrey's skin prickled and he ground his teeth.

Peter pulled his gun from his holster.

Out of the shadows from the hallway emerged Matthew Keller, criminal mastermind, killer, thief, and Neal's arch enemy.

"What?" he held his hands out, a smug smile on his face, "Am I late to the party?"

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	11. Chapter 11

**The penultimate chapter! Enjoy! I think you guys will like this one!**

"Keller," Peter raised his gun and pointed it straight at the criminal, "hands up, stay where you are."

"Agent Peter Burke," Keller walked forward slightly, "looks like you're in this a little deeper than you'd thought you'd be, huh?"

"I said stay where you are!"

"Relax," Keller held his hands up slightly, a smile on his lips, "shoot me, the rest of the dogs come rushing in. You'll blow your location."

He had a point, but that didn't mean Peter couldn't keep his weapon pointed at him.

"That's what I thought," he chuckled deeply before looking at Neal, "Caffrey, good to see you again. You look a little pale, how are you feeling?"

Neal clenched his jaw.

"Silent treatment, huh? Is that how you treat an old friend?"

"Quiet, Keller," Peter barked, "show me your hands."

Keller smiled and lifted his hands in the air.

"You have any weapons on you?"

"Now, Burke, what sort of criminal gathering would this be if I didn't have a weapon?" his smile broadened.

"Neal," Burke said without looking at Caffrey, "disarm him."

Caffrey hesitated for a moment but moved forward. Keller's hands were still in the air and Peter's gun was pointed right at his head. Neal pulled out a handgun from his nemesis' waistband. He threw it across the room, then found a knife in a strap attached to his ankle, a blade in the toe of his boot, and a small handgun strapped under his arm.

"Surprised you showed up," Burke remarked to Keller.

"Well, why not? You are claiming the title for my brilliant work, after all."

"I thought that's what you wanted," Neal growled, "to make me take the fall for what you did."

"The plan wasn't for you to slander my name with some cheap tricks," he gestured to the fake Monet lying against the wall, "that's low even for you, Caffrey."

"Where's the real Monet?" Neal ordered.

"Close," Keller's smile appeared again.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell me!" Neal shouted.

"Neal!" Peter looked at him, shocked, "Cool it! Do you want to get shot?"

The stomping of heavy boots sounded in the distance.

"Ah, ah, ah," tutted Keller, "someone's losing his temper."

Caffrey took a deep breath.

"Keller, this will all go away if you just tell us where the painting is. I won't bring you in. A simple trade."

"Peter?" Neal looked incredulous.

"Neal, there's no way Keller will ever give up the Monet and we'll walk away from this clean if he's going to get arrested," Peter breathed deeply, "so, what do you say, Keller?"

"Interesting offer, Burke, what does your wife have to say about it?"

"Don't get her involved in this!" he growled.

"Neal, you really follow this guy?" he looked at Caffrey with a raised brow, "Day in, day out like a dog on a short, tight leash, huh? What happened to you, Caffrey? You used to be the king of the castle and now your some low-life, miserable CI with a bracelet on your foot."

"Quiet!" Neal hissed.

"Come on, Neal, show me you've still got some mojo left in you."

Caffrey growled and lurched forward. Keller's smile widened, a glint in his eye, as his hand reached for something inside his coat.

"Neal, NO!" Peter's eyes widened and he shouted in alarm.

Too late. Keller pulled out a small handgun from a hidden pocket inside his coat, one Neal forgot to notice. Caffrey registered what was happening, but he couldn't stop his momentum. He came to a stop just a few inches ahead of Keller, with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at his forehead.

"Keller, no, no!" Burke's heart raced, "Please, put down the gun," Burke's weapon was still pointed at the criminal.

Peter could see the regret in Neal's eyes at his stupidity and recklessness. Keller got to him, broke him for just a second and look what happened.

"Come on, you don't want to add murder to your rap sheet," Peter reasoned.

"Caffrey, if I take you out of the picture, that reduces a lot of stress from my life, don't you think?" he wasn't talking to Peter.

"Yeah, yeah I-I guess so," Neal gulped, eyes looking straight at the gun barrel pointed at his head.

"But then who'll go to jail for me for the Monet theft?"

"How about you own up to what you did?"

"Fat chance, Caffrey, but cute of you to think."

"WE HAVE THE BUILDING SURROUNDED. SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Tick tock, Neal, the big guys are calling," Keller taunted and cocked the gun.

"Keller!" Burke diverted his attention, "Stop this!"

"No backing down now, Burke," this time his smile was tainted with maliciousness, eyes glowing with violent glee, "goodbye, Neal-"

A shot rang out in the museum.

Neal flinched, eyes screwed tightly closed.

Peter had his jaw clenched, gun barrel smoking, eyes hard, as Keller growled and groaned. His gun dropped to the floor, his wrist bleeding profusely, as Neal ran behind Peter. Keller's eyes were on fire with rage as he dropped to the floor, holding his wounded hand. Peter's gun was still pointed at him. Peter shot his hand, the one holding the gun pointed at Neal. Caffrey kicked Keller's weapon across the room.

"One more move, and I'll put another one in you."

Keller, as furious as he was, managed to release out a painful laugh as shouts and commands from outside resonated in.

"SHOTS FIRED, SHOTS FIRED!"

"WHERE'S THE HOSTAGE?"

"MOVE IN, MOVE IN!"

"A WEAPON IS ACTIVE ON THE PREMISES!"

"Too late," Keller grunted with glee.

"Tell me where the Monet is," Peter demanded, moving forward.

He didn't respond.

Heavy boots sounded from down the hall, voices accompanied with them.

"Tell me!"

Still nothing.

The voices were close now.

Burke stood over Keller. That smug smile got to him. Peter lifted his leg and stomped on Keller's injured hand. He shouted in pain and shock, Neal's eyes were wide and mouth open as he looked on at the scene before him.

"Last chance," Peter growled.

Keller was squirming and struggling, trying to break free from Burke's hold. His eyes were wide now, maybe there was some fear in them too as his eyes darted to the doorway where FBI teams would be bursting through any minute.

The boots were just down the hall.

"Keller," Peter's tone held a threat as he lifted his boot slightly, indicating he would stomp down again.

Keller's eyes were moving back and forth frantically, calculating, "Arghh! You'll promise you'll let me go?!"

"Yes!"

"Peter!" Neal shouted indignantly.

"Fine! It's in storage unit 5C at a warehouse three miles east of here!"

Peter lifted his boot, Keller pulled it away quickly. Peter turned his head to Neal, eyes filled with relief, as he saw the first blue uniform rounding the corner.

Just a second, he lost his focus for just a second and Keller struck. He snatched the weapon from Peter's hands and kicked him to the floor. Burke went sprawling against the polished wood. Neal, who was looking at the incoming men, wasn't paying attention when Keller yelled, "Neal, catch!" Caffrey turned around, but the gun was already being tossed towards him. His reflexed responded and the gun came to rest in his hands. Burke was shaking the stars out his eyes and he blinked a few times. Keller had bolted, the stairwell door across the room sliding shut. Neal was looking down at the loaded weapon in his hands in shock and fearful understanding. Burke blinked away his bleariness as ten FBI agents crowded into the room. A horrible feeling daunted upon them. He looked from Neal, to the gun, to the FBI men, and back to Neal who had turned white.

From the perspective of the FBI men, all they could see was their target Neal Caffrey, a loaded gun in Caffrey's hands, a fallen FBI agent (Peter), and some blood on the floor (Keller's), but that was enough for them.

"FREEZE, FBI!"

"PUT THE WEAPON DOWN!"

Neal was still looking at the gun in his hands in shock.

"I SAID PUT THE WEAPON DOWN!"

"Neal!" Peter shouted.

Caffrey looked up, registering Peter's voice, but a lone shot rang out, and Neal collapsed to the floor.

 **Next chapter will come soon! Leave me a fav/follow/review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Last chapter, enjoy! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story!**

Agent Hughes had his arms crossed as he looked at Caffrey, wired up in his hospital bed. He was behind a glass pane, looking at the CI with a haggard face and crossed arms. What a mess, the entire situation turning from a snowball to an avalanche. Neal had been shot right in the stomach, but to the side. It had pierced a bit of his lining, but mainly was a flesh wound. He had lost a lot of blood, his heart rate a little low.

Hughes ran in just a few seconds after Caffrey was shot. He should've been happy, but Neal was still part of his team, he cared for him. Then, he heard Peter's cries. Hughes rushed in to see Peter being held back by two agents as three more moved forward, circling Caffrey, guns pointed down at his fallen form.

"What are you doing?!" Peter shouted, "You idiots! It's not him, he didn't steal it!"

Hughes furrowed his brows. Caffrey was motionless. Someone was already calling an ambulance.

Burke's words started to register with some of the men, they looked confused, wondering if they had missed their target.

"Okay, okay, everyone calm down!" Hughes jogged to the center, "Get Peter out of here!"

"WHAT?!" Burke fought as the men dragged him towards the door, "Hughes, you bastard! You don't know what you're doing, you don't know what happened! It was Keller, not Neal, it was Keller!"

His shouts faded out as he was detained.

"Where's that ambulance?" Hughes said in a deep voice.

"A few minutes out, sir."

"All right, someone put pressure on the wound, wait till the paramedics arrive."

Peter's cries still rang in his ears.

"Oh, for god's sake, put your guns down. He's not a danger to anyone anymore."

"Look, boss," one of his men called him over, "the painting."

Hughes' eyes lit up, Peter was probably just devastated that Neal could do something like this again-

His agent turned the painting around and a price tag was stuck in the corner.

 **PAINTING**  
 **$49.99**

Hughes felt something sink in his stomach. The paramedics rushed through the door, someone put cuffs on Neal as the emergency responders lifted him onto a gurney, battling the gunshot wound.

Everything moved in slow motion for Hughes. Bits and pieces started fitting together like a puzzle as this entire case revealed itself in a new light.

"Boss!"

He turned around, sluggishly.

One of his agents found a small handgun in the corner of the room. It wasn't FBI issue.

He cleared his throat, "Bag and tag it. I want everything Evidence finds on that."

"You got it, sir."

He jolted himself out of the memories from earlier in the day. Now, he was at the hospital, looking at Neal's still form, and probably racking up a huge worker's comp bill.

"Hughes!" It sounded distant, but he closed his eyes slowly, knowing exactly who it was.

Peter rounded the corner like a raging bull. He was breathing heavily, eyes zeroed in on Hughes standing in front of the glass pane. He crossed the hall in a few angry strides, yelling at him all the while.

"Hughes!" he growled in a deep voice, "Hughes, you bastard! Look what you did!"

Reese looked between Peter and the figure in bed behind the glass pane. After everything that had happened, he couldn't let Burke see Caffrey like that. He began to move forward, to meet Peter before he would see the debilitated Neal.

"Peter-"

Burke grabbed him by the shoulders and cornered him against the wall. It wasn't a hostile move, it didn't hurt, as Hughes was still Peter's boss, but his grip was tight with desperate emotion. He was worried sick about Neal, and he needed to concentrate all of those feelings into one place.

"Calm down, Peter, it's okay. Calm down."

His agent looked to the floor, still holding Hughes' shoulder tightly, but it seemed like it was more for support rather than aggression.

"That's it, easy now."

His back heaved with heavy sighs, until finally he calmed a little.

He mumbled something.

"What?" Reese tried to make it out.

"He wasn't the thief…"

Reese's breath hitched in his throat. Peter's voice sounded broken.

"I know," Hughes placed a light hand on Burke's shoulder.

"Then why…" he couldn't continue.

"We got it wrong, Peter, I'm sorry. I should've had more faith in you and Neal."

Peter nodded slightly, as if the apology was slowly seeping in. It would take a while for Burke to forgive Hughes, but this was a start.

"Keller?"

"On the run. All spare agents are trying to track him."

"He's injured."

"This is Keller we're talking about, he's resourceful."

"The real Monet?"

"Right where he said it'd be."

"Are you sure?"

"We ran every possible authentication test, it's really it."

"Good," he let out a sigh as he straightened up, "now, where's Neal?"

"Peter-"

"Hughes, where is he?"

"Burke, just wait-"

"Where is he?"

He let out a defeated breath, "Remember when you were walking down the hall and I was looking at something?"

"Yeah," Peter answered grimly.

Hughes slightly nodded his head down the hall.

Peter's face went slack, his entire focus shifting into a dreadful look as the pieces put themselves together. He began to shove past Hughes.

"No, Peter, wait-"

"Let me go."

"Peter-"

"Let me go!"

Burke ripped himself away from his boss and went jogging down the hall. He screeched to a stop in front of the glass pane Hughes stood at minutes before. His eyes went wide and mouth dropped slightly as he looked at the figure behind the window.

"Neal…"

Hughes watched in uncomfortable, guilty silence. He cleared his throat, looked down at his shoes, then turned away. He walked down the hall Peter just came through and left the two alone.

Neal felt some pain register into his clouded, black mind. His sealed eyelids screwed up in sensitivity as he opened them for a minute and blinding light registered through his sore pupils. His hand tried reaching for the light switch right by his nightstand, but something tugged against his skin. He felt confused and disoriented, and opened his ice blue eyes little by little to see an iV poking out of the crook of his elbow. He wasn't at home in his comfortable apartment? He wasn't in his luxurious bed? He wasn't wearing his silk robe with a fresh bottle of wine open?  
No, he was in a shabby looking hospital in a dimly lit room, lights flickering, a stiff patient gown on his body, and nauseating sludge seeping through his IV.

He tried to sit up, but a groan immediately escaped his lips.

Something stirred in the corner of his eye. He saw a red tie, a dark suit, and then Peter Burke swam into his vision. He looked groggy too, as if he just woke up. Neal's eyes flitted to the corner to see a makeshift bed set up on a meager cot.

"Neal?" Peter seemed suddenly alert as Caffrey came to, "Can you hear me?"

"Peter?" he groaned.

"Oh, thank God," Peter looked to the heavens in relief, "I thought you were a goner."

"No, I'm still sticking around a bit longer."

A smile broke on Burke's lips, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

"I see that annoying sense of humor didn't die with you?"

"Not a chance."

"How you feeling?"

"Like crap," he sat up slowly, wincing, "but I'll live."

"Take it easy, huh? I don't want to lose you again."

"Agent Peter Burke?" Neal cracked a playful smile, "are you worried about me?"

"Me? Worried? Pssh, come on, Neal, I-I mean, I wasn't worried, I was just-you know, the mission was intense so-"

"Don't confuse yourself," Neal chuckled, "thank you, though."

A moment of silence lapsed.

Caffrey spoke again, "Peter, what happened back there? At the museum?"

Burke shivered, "Nothing good, Neal. To be honest, I'd rather not relive it just yet, but we got the Monet."

"Good. Keller?"

"Still on the run."

Caffrey's eyes smoldered as he looked down at the bedsheets, "We'll catch him, Neal."

"We've been saying that for years now."

"Trust me, it'll catch up to him. Meanwhile, worry about yourself. You got a bullet in you tonight."

"Yeah, I think the pain meds are blocking the real blow, but I'm sure I'll feel it in the morning."

"Neal, I thought you almost died. The way the bullet just ripped through you, and the blood. I…"

"I'm okay, Peter."

"Yeah, but for how long? What if one day, we aren't so lucky?"

"Are you saying you want me to go?"

"No, no, it's just it's safer…"

"Peter, I don't need safety, I need freedom," he lifted the bed sheets slightly to expose the tracker anklet still tightly strapped to his ankle around his sock, "I want to do this, trust me."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

A nurse walked into the room, carrying a small tray with some medicine bottles.

"Good morning," she nodded at Neal, happy to see he was awake, "just here to administer some more medication."

"Do what you gotta do, doc," he leaned back in his bed. Peter took a step back.

"The medicine is going to put you out real fast, okay? Doctor's orders."

He sighed in relief a bit. Caffrey was so exhausted, a little sleep and some care was exactly what he needed.

She pricked the needle into his IV and he felt the rush of the liquid in his skin. The nurse pulled it out and Neal rested against his pillow.

"You've got a little under a minute before he's out," she smiled and walked out.

"I'll tell Elizabeth you're awake," Peter smiled.

"Yeah, and thank her for everything."

"You got it. Her and Mozzie are probably worried sick at the house."

Peter could already see Neal's eyes glaze over.

"I don't even want to know what that's going to be like," Neal chuckled tiredly.

"You get some rest, okay? I'll be here when you wake up and we can talk to Hughes about a pay raise or an upgrade for your service."

Neal felt exhaustion creep up his limbs, he nodded tiredly as his eyelids shut. Someone adjusted his blankets and turned off the lights as he slowly slipped out of consciousness, happy to be alive.

Peter watched from the doorway. Neal was asleep in the hospital bed, looking like a small, vulnerable child under his care. He would do everything he could to protect Caffrey from Keller and any other, he trusted Neal, loved him like a son, and he would get better soon.

 _Back to work_ , Peter turned away from the room and walked down the hall.

 **The End!  
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